


The First Day

by little0bird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Year After the War, Gen, Healing, Healing Is a Slow Process, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 55
Words: 240,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: The first year after the Battle at Hogwarts, where everyone has to learn to live without the people they love.





	1. And So It Begins

' _ I've had enough trouble for a lifetime.' – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pg, 749, US hardback edition, Scholastic _

* * *

Harry reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the Headmaster's office.  _ Headmistress, now, _ he thought, realizing it was now Professor McGonagall's office. He pulled his Invisibility Cloak over his head.

'What'd you do that for?' Ron asked.

'I just want to go up to the dormitory and sleep,' Harry answered. 'Without being mobbed. We have to go by the Great Hall. I'm beyond done in.' He heard Hermione huff softly and saw her give Ron a  _ look _ from the corner of his eye. He set off for Gryffindor Tower, walking between Ron and Hermione, an act as natural now as breathing.

He came to a stop at the entrance to the Great Hall, and stood for a moment, taking it all in again. Somehow, the sunlight seemed clearer and brighter. He saw the light glint on Ginny's bright head, leaning against Molly still. Every so often, she would turn her face into the shoulder of her shirt, and wipe her face on it. Harry very badly wanted to go to her, but he was so tired. He knew he would be next to useless to her, as exhausted as he was. He turned and headed for the staircase that would take him to the painting of the Fat Lady. 'You two ought to go on back,' he said.

'Are you sure?' Hermione asked gently.

'Yeah. I just want to be left alone for a while.' Harry started to go up the stairs. 'Hey, could one of you tell Mrs. Weasley where I am? So she doesn't worry?'

'I'll tell her,' Ron volunteered. 'I'll even try to make sure she doesn't go up there for a while.'

Harry felt his lips curve into a small smile. 'Good luck with that, mate.'

'Sleep well, Harry,' Hermione said softly.

Harry stopped and turned around. 'You know… I think I might. I don't remember the last time I…' He shook his head and continued up the staircase, finally coming to a stop in front of the Fat Lady, who was celebrating with her friend, Violet. Harry pulled the Cloak off his body, revealing himself to her. 'Hello,' he said. 'I don't suppose you'd let me in to get some sleep in a real bed, would you?'

The Fat Lady eyed him for a moment, then the painting swung forward. Harry craned his head around the frame. 'Thank you,' he said sincerely.

'Not at all,' she replied.

Harry hoisted himself through the portrait hole and stood in the middle of the common room, inhaling the familiar scents of parchment, ink, wood smoke, and some unidentifiable scent that told him he was home. He trailed his fingers over the sofa that had been his and Ginny's favorite place to study. Sometimes, they waited until the common room had cleared, and laid there in each other's arms talking or sleeping.

The picture of Ginny in his arms, with his nose buried in her hair, sent a wave of dizziness over him. His fingers clutched the worn scarlet fabric of the upholstery, an image of her writhing under him flooding his brain. Harry hadn't thought about that in months. He knew exactly what Ginny looked like naked. During the Christmas holiday his sixth year, he had walked into the bathroom at the Burrow while she was in the shower. The lock on the door was a bit dodgy, and Ginny didn't always double-check it. There had been a slight gap between the wall and the shower curtain and Harry stood there in shock, unable to breathe as he watched her rinse the shampoo from her hair. A creak on the stairs above him made him carefully close the door and hastily retreat from the landing back downstairs. 'Oh, God, Ginny…' he breathed. If she were there at that moment, Harry would have given anything to haul her up to his dormitory, lock the door, and…

Harry bent over and let his face rest on the back of the sofa, grateful he was alone.

He took several slow, deep breaths, and shuffled to the stairs that led to the boy's dormitories. The adrenaline that had kept him going for the past few hours was wearing off, and the myriad aches and pains were pricking his attention. It felt like it took hours to climb to the seventh year boys' dormitory and shoving the door open took his last bit of strength.

The circular room stood silent and empty, the five beds surrounding him, each one neatly made, the scent of laundry soap permeating the room. Blinking back tears, Harry realized the elves had kept his bed, as well as Ron and Dean's beds, made up and ready for them, in the hope that Harry would succeed. He stumbled to the one that had been his for six years and dropped heavily to the mattress. He slumped back into the pillow, thinking he ought to take his trainers off, then thought nothing more.

* * *

Ginny looked down the table. Arthur was sitting next to a shell-shocked George, who looked somehow more lost and confused, as opposed to grief-stricken. She supposed it was only natural, since Fred and George had been attached at the hip since birth. It would be like one of the others losing an arm or a leg. Percy sat on the other side of George, poking listlessly at a plate of eggs and sausages. Bill held Fleur on his lap, his face buried in her silvery hair. Ginny took a moment to wonder how on earth Fleur could fight in a pitched battle, and yet not have a hair out of place. Charlie sat a little apart from everyone else, a pencil clutched in his blunt-fingered hand, his ever-present sketchbook on the table. Every so often, a tear would slip down his freckled cheek, and land with a faint  _ plop _ on the paper. Ginny remembered he and Tonks had been close friends, if not best friends while in school, and had remained so when he left school early to go to Romania. Ron was nowhere to be found. He and Hermione had slipped out of the Great Hall a while ago and hadn't returned. Ginny drew in a shuddering breath, and leaned in closer to Molly, who stroked Ginny's hair with a gentle hand. Ginny sniffed loudly and blinked, trying to not let the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes fall, but they escaped and slid down her face. She tilted her head and used the cloth of her shirt to wipe her face.

A flash of color made her look up. Ron and Hermione stood in the shadows of the entrance, a large gap between them. Ginny knew it was Harry, under the Invisibility Cloak. She blinked and they were gone. After a few minutes Ron and Hermione joined them at the table. Ron slid onto the bench next to Hermione, and wrapped his arm around her waist. It gave Ginny a pang to see it. 'Mum?' Ron said softly. 'He's up in the dormitory sleeping,' he told her, emphasizing the "he". Molly nodded.

Ginny looked up at the clear blue sky of the enchanted ceiling and let her eyes drift shut. The worry was over, but there was so much more to do. 'Ginny, dear? Why don't you go on up to bed?' Molly suggested.

'Okay…' Ginny climbed off the bench, and slowly left the Great Hall, stopping briefly by Neville to hug him fiercely. 'You did us all proud, Nev,' she whispered. 'Especially your mum and dad.'

Neville's round face lit up, brighter than the sunbeams streaming through the windows. 'Thanks.' He leaned closer to Ginny. 'I'm going to tell them,' he confessed. 'Everything. As soon as we can get to London. I hope somehow, deep down, they'll understand.'

Ginny let her head rest against Neville's shoulder for a moment. 'They will,' she said.

Straightening, she made her way up to the entrance of Gryffindor Tower and the portrait of the Fat Lady. 'I'm sorry, I don't know the password,' Ginny said wearily. 'I haven't been here since before the Easter holiday.'

'Don't need one today, dearie,' the Fat Lady declared. The portrait swung open, and Ginny climbed through the entrance. The common room was remarkably untouched, except or a few windows. She stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, knowing she ought to go to the girls' dormitory, but yearning to go up to the boys'. She felt in her pocket for the fake Galleon from the D.A. and held it in one hand. 'Heads the girls', tails the boys',' she murmured, flipping the coin up, snatching it out of midair. She slapped it on the back of her other hand, and lifted her hand off it.

Tails.

Ginny pocketed the coin and headed for the staircase that would take her up to the seventh year boys' dormitory.

The door was slightly ajar, and Ginny pushed it open, her breath catching in her throat. Harry lay across his bed, his feet still on the floor, fully dressed. His face was smudged with soot and blood, his glasses still rested on his nose, askew and smeared and dirty. She went back downstairs to the common room, and pulled out her wand, using it to Levitate a small armchair up the stairs and into the dormitory.

She set it down next to Harry's bed with a soft  _ thump _ , stealing a look at him, but he hadn't so much as twitched. She shoved her wand back into her pocket, and bent to swing Harry's feet on the bed. Ginny perched on the edge of the mattress, and carefully untied his trainers, and lifted them off his feet. She slowly took his glasses off, setting them on the night table next to the bed. She contemplated trying to pry the bedding from under his body to tuck him in, but Ginny thought that might wake him. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the configuration of the room. The boys' dormitory was a mirror image of the girls', and the girls' had a cubby by the bathroom with extra bedding. She found the boys had one as well, and opened it, taking out a couple of extra blankets, and carrying them back to the armchair. She unfurled one over Harry, her fingers stealing up to his face, brushing the hair from his eyes.

She picked up the other one, and wrapped it around herself, her eyes traveling over Harry's face. His face was all bones and hollows. Deep purple smudges marred the skin under his eyes. She had watched him speak to people in the Great Hall, his shoulders tensed with the effort of trying to stay upright. Ginny wondered how long it had been since Harry had slept through an entire night.  _ Years, I think… _

Ginny eased into the armchair, toeing her trainers off, and curling into the cushions. She kept her eyes on Harry through the long hours of the day, lighting a small lamp as the light faded.

Harry slept on, barely moving. Ginny had to rest her hand on his chest more than once to make sure it still moved up and down.

Kreacher had come several times, with offers of food and drink, which Ginny politely declined. She did ask him to go to Bill and Fleur's house to bring back fresh clothing for Harry. Ron and Hermione had come up at some point earlier that evening, and fell into Ron's bed. Ginny raised an eyebrow at them, but Hermione just shrugged and Ron's arm snaked over her waist, pulling her snugly against him. 'It's about time,' Ginny whispered. Both of them grinned bashfully, then were asleep in a few minutes.

Ginny sat in her chair, wide-awake far into the night.

* * *

Harry sat up slowly, aching in every muscle and joint of his body, even in muscles he didn't know he had. He reached blindly for his glasses, shoving them onto his nose, the blurry lines of the dormitory coming into focus. The other beds were empty and only one – the one that had belonged to Ron – showed signs of having been slept in. The room was dark with only a small light to pierce the gloom. Ginny was curled into a squashy armchair, eyes following him. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but only a ghostly croak came out. A glass of water appeared in front of him. Ginny held it out wordlessly. He took it gratefully and gulped half of it in one swallow. 'How long have I been asleep?' He glanced at his watch. It read nine-thirty. 'Ten hours? Twelve?'

'Try nearly thirty-six.' Ginny took the glass from him and refilled it from the jug on his night table. 'It's the next day,' she added softly. 'Kreacher's been up here every few hours to see if you want something to eat.'

Harry ran his hand through his hair, wincing at the dirt, blood, and soot matted into it. 'I need some clothes,' he said.

Ginny pointed to the foot of the bed. A clean pair of jeans and shirt lay neatly folded on one corner, along with a clean set of pajamas. 'I asked Kreacher to go to Bill's and get some fresh clothing for you earlier. He seemed desperate for something to do.'

'Thanks.' Harry stiffly eased himself off the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. He peeled his filthy, blood-stained clothing off, careful of the numerous cuts and scrapes on his arms and legs. He dropped his shirt on the floor and his eyes widened when he realized he had put it on four days ago. He laid his glasses on a small shelf and opened a shower cubicle.

With a hand on the wall, Harry stepped into the cubicle, and turned on the hot water tap as far as he could. He leaned against the wall and let the hot water pound his stiff muscles into goo.

Harry picked up a random bottle of shampoo, and began to lather his hair. He ducked under the spray and let the water sluice the shampoo from his hair, to tired to keep his hands aloft. He glanced around the tiled cubicle, peering nearsightedly for the bar of soap, clumsily patting the walls, until his hand slid into the recess in the wall, where a bar of soap usually rested. His fingers closed around the square edges and a face cloth floated into the cubicle. 'Thought you could use that,' Ginny's voice came from the doorway. 'There's a towel on the hook, too.'

'Thanks,' Harry called back hoarsely. He plucked the face cloth from the door of the cubicle where it had landed, and plopped the soap into it. He worked up a good lather and carefully began to wash his arms, careful not to scrub too hard over the half-healed burns from Gringotts, and the scrapes and cuts from the tunnel of the Shrieking Shack, or the flying debris from the battle. There was a nasty cut on his left knee that took a great deal of patient dabs with the face cloth to clean the worst of the clotted blood from it. His right knee was singed badly from the Fiendfyre Crabbe had set in the Room of Requirement. Harry supposed he should go to the hospital wing, but the thought of exerting that much effort to drag himself there made him feel sick. He rinsed the face cloth and lathered it again, passing it over the knuckles of his left hand, where he had shoved his hand into his mouth in the tunnel to keep from crying out in pain. The scrapes his teeth had left stung badly as he cleansed it of the crusted blood and dirt.

When he was finally clean, Harry shut the water off and opened the cubicle door. The towel hung over the hook, as Ginny had promised. He reached for it, annoyed at how much his hand shook. She had put a Warming charm on it, and it made the scent of the laundry soap slightly stronger. Harry pressed the soft towel to his face and willed himself not to cry with relief. He stiffly dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist and then put his glasses back on. Harry managed to shuffle back into the dormitory without tripping over his feet and stopped at the foot of his bed. Ginny had left the room, but a tray with sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice stood on his night table. He dropped the damp towel to the floor and reached for the clean pajamas, nearly groaning as he forced his aching muscles to maneuver his arms and legs into the blessedly clean and freshly laundered cotton. Harry painfully pulled himself back into the bed. It had been turned down. The aroma of the sandwiches tickled Harry's nose, making his stomach lurch uncomfortably. He snatched his wand from the night table and Vanished the food before he could vomit.

He felt numb, like the events of the past several days had happened to someone else. Harry knew that eventually it would all penetrate through the fog that enveloped him. He just didn't know when.

He slid back down into the bed, sighing in relief as his body conformed to the soft mattress.

Harry shifted a few times and his eyes closed. He was asleep once more.


	2. Break On Through

Harry woke up, his fingers cramping. They were wrapped around the handle of his wand. 'Owwwwww,' he breathed, slowly straightening his fingers. He flexed his hand a few times, loosening the stiff joints and muscles. He scrubbed his face with his hands and sat up. Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Ron were all asleep in their beds. Seamus and Neville looked a lot better than they had a few nights ago. Harry guessed they had gone to see Madam Pomfrey.  _ That's what I should do, _ he thought. His gashed and burned knees still throbbed. He put on his glasses and looked at his watch. It was almost seven. Harry slid out of bed and gathered the clean clothing still nestled on the foot of his bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and managed to undress and shower, discovering he wasn't as sore as he had been last night. He supposed sleeping for nearly two straight days had helped.

Harry pulled on his clothes and conjured a toothbrush. His mouth felt like it was coated in moss. As he brushed his teeth, he realized he should see Professor McGonagall. He didn't think Ron or Hermione would have told her about… 

Harry spit the mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and proceeded to brush his teeth again. He didn't want to have to think about what he had to tell McGonagall until he was actually in front of her. He went back into the dormitory and found his moleskin pouch on the night table. He didn't remember putting it there, but guessed someone, probably one of the elves, had collected the clothing he had left on the bathroom floor last night. Or maybe Ginny had put it there before she left. He opened the pouch and pulled the Marauder's Map from it. 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,' he whispered, tapping the map with his wand. He broke out into a cold sweat, remembering.  _ I can't… Not now. _ Like everything else, there would be time for that later.

He carried the map to a window and sat on the deep sill, tilted the map toward the clear morning sunlight, carefully searching the map. McGonagall was in the Headmaster's office.  _ No, Headmistress. _ He slid off the window sill and looked around the room for his trainers. They were lined up neatly next to his bed, miraculously clean.  _ Well, cleaner that they had been,  _ he thought wryly. He picked them up and sat on the edge of the bed to put them on.

He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, and tiptoed out of the dormitory and down the spiral staircase to the common room. It was empty, to Harry's surprise, until he realized the dormitories for the fifth year and below were unoccupied by their usual occupants. Grateful for the lack of an audience, Harry slipped out of the portrait hole and made his way to the entrance to the Headmistress' office. A suit of armor guarded the entrance in lieu of the broken gargoyle. 'I need to see Professor McGonagall,' he said. 'It's important…' Harry didn't know what to expect, but he hadn't expected the suit of armor to make a clunky bow and step aside for him with no password.

Harry climbed the unmoving staircase to the top and knocked on the heavy oak door. It creaked open, and Harry poked his head through the gap. 'Professor?' he called softly. 'Professor McGonagall?'

'Come in, Potter,' came the hoarse invitation. 'I was hoping you'd be awake today. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley said you'd been sleeping since Saturday morning.'

'Yeah, I just woke up…'

McGonagall toyed with a quill, looking nervous about something. It unsettled Harry to see her this way. She had always been so stoic, even in the direst circumstances. 'Have a seat, Potter,' she said.

Harry gingerly perched on the edge of a chair. 'I need…' He cleared his throat. 'I need to tell you something.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'About Snape…' His throat closed around his voice. ' _ Professor _ Snape,' he amended. Harry raised a shaking hand to his head, and ran it through his still-damp hair. 'He's in the Shrieking Shack. Someone… Someone ought to bring him in with the…' Harry choked. 'The others.'

McGonagall's face hardened. 'The man was a traitor.'

'No, he wasn't,' Harry protested. 'He wasn't a traitor,' he said firmly. 'I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for Sna – _Professor_ Snape.' Harry pointed to the portrait of Dumbledore. 'Ask him. He'll tell you.'

McGonagall turned sharply. 'Albus is that true?' she asked.

'Severus was loyal to our side, Minerva. It was to our advantage he was able to traverse between the sides.' Dumbledore leaned forward a little. 'He risked his own life, many times over to help Harry.'

McGonagall's lips thinned in displeasure. 'I'll send someone to bring him in.'

'What will happen to him?' Harry asked. 'Since he has no family…'

'We'll take care of it,' McGonagall said flatly. 'There's a cemetery in Hogsmeade.'

'No.' The word slipped from Harry's mouth, surprising him.

'No?' McGonagall's eyebrow arched.

'No,' Harry repeated, the idea forming in his head as he spoke. 'I'll see to it.'  _ I'll take him to my mother. She's the only person he ever loved… _

'As you wish,' McGonagall replied quietly. She toyed with the quill a while longer. 'Do you want him to be part of the memorial service tomorrow?'

'Memorial?' Harry repeated blankly. 'What memorial?'

'I see you didn't run into anyone on your way over here. The memorial to honor those who gave their lives to defend this castle.'  _ And you _ , remained unspoken, but hung heavily in the air.

'Yes.'

'Harry, you ask too much,' McGonagall stated.

Harry didn't notice her use of his first name. 'I know.'

She put the quill down. 'Would you be willing to speak at the service? I know it might be difficult for you – '

'No,' Harry said faintly, shaking his head. His eyes closed painfully. 'Don't you think I did enough Saturday? Afterward, when all  _ I _ wanted – no –  _ needed _ to mourn my friends, but I held it together to be the "hero" for a few more hours!' His voice rose. 'I'm tired of being the bloody hero! I've been the effing hero since I was eleven. Just once, I want to be like everyone else!'

The shroud acting as a tourniquet around Harry's lacerated soul fell apart in tattered shreds. 'Damn it, Professor, I just want to be left alone…' he turned and stalked out of the office. As he reached the base of the stairs, he heard people in the corridor and threw the Invisibility Cloak over his head. He stood uncertainly in the middle of the corridor, unsure of where to go. The dormitory was out, and any other place held too many painful memories. He turned and started walking blindly.

He found himself in a familiar corridor, looking around with a soft gasp.  _ I need a place to be alone. I need a place to be alone. I need a place to be alone… _ he said to himself in desperation. Astonishingly, a door appeared in the wall, and nearly sobbing with relief, Harry threw himself at it, slamming it closed behind him.

* * *

George stared up at the canopy over the bed. He could hear Charlie snorting in his sleep as he turned over in one of the other beds. As much as this room resembled the one beneath it, it had one very heavy advantage: it wasn't the dormitory he'd shared with Fred for nearly seven years. George rolled over on his side, clutching a pillow to his chest, in the hope that if he pressed hard enough, it would smother the gaping wound that couldn't be seen with the naked eye.

He slowly uncurled his fist, where he clutched a tiny stuffed dragon. He pulled his wand from under his pillow, and laid the tip on the worn plush of the dragon's tail. ' _ Engorgio _ ,' he whispered. In seconds, it was its normal size. George started shaking. 'Herman,' he choked. 'Herman, he's gone…' George rested his face against the side of the dragon and began to cry in earnest.

George had never cried in front of any else, save Fred or Herman. George could feel the places where Herman's plush had worn off under his fingers. Herman was missing an eye and most of the stuffing in his tail was compacted to nothing. When George was a child, he had taken Herman everywhere with him. That didn't change when George came to Hogwarts, although Herman was relegated to his trunk, but occasionally brought out, only under the cover of darkness, when George was frightened, and only when he'd been shrunk small enough to fit into George's palm. Herman spent most of fourth year during the whole Chamber of Secrets debacle tucked in George's pocket. Not even Fred had known that.

George was crying so hard, he didn't hear the door open, nor did he notice someone had crawled into the bed with him. The scent of honeysuckle wreathed him, and he knew without looking it was Katie. She tucked herself against his back, and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist. George took one hand from Herman, and wrapped it around Katie's hand. 'I don't know who I am without him,' he sobbed.

Katie held him tighter, unable to say anything.

Because honestly, what could she say? Nothing she could say was going to help.

* * *

'Has anyone seen Harry?' Molly asked at dinner. She ladled soup into a bowl and passed it to George, who listlessly stirred it with his spoon.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. Ron shook his head. 'No, Mum. He wasn't in his bed when we woke up this morning.'

'We looked everywhere,' Hermione added. She, Ron, and Neville had split up and spent the afternoon combing the castle looking for Harry.

'Could be under his cloak,' Ron remarked. 'Won't find him then, unless he wants you to.' He accepted the bowl of soup Molly handed him, and began to eat it with alarming lethargy, for people used to seeing him inhale his food.

'Do you think he knows about tomorrow?' Arthur asked.

'Probably,' Hermione said. 'If he's talked to Professor McGonagall at all today.'

'Do you think he'll be there?' Molly inquired of no one in particular, as she handed a bowl of soup to Ginny. Ginny set the bowl down, but made no further attempt to eat it.

'Will there be reporters?' Ron asked warily.

'No,' Percy said. 'The Minister's asking them to respect people's privacy.'

'Yeah, like that'll work,' snorted Bill.

'It's a start,' Charlie chided.

'Mum, stop it,' Ron exclaimed. Molly was buttering his bread for him. 'I can do that.'

Molly gazed at Ron. 'I know that,' she said mildly.

'Molly,' Arthur said, laying a hand on her arm. 'Why don't you eat something?' He knew why she spent most of the past few days bustling around, taking care of everyone else. It had been the same way when Fabian and Gideon had died. The more she took care of everyone, the less time she had to think. She shook her head and made her way down the table, urging Seamus and Dean to eat, pouring tea for Lavender and the Patil twins. She stopped to heap more chicken on Neville's plate and spoke with his grandmother.

Ron heard a rustling sound as Harry pulled the cloak from his head. He jumped when Harry appeared out of thin air. 'Where've you been?' he asked curiously.

'Nowhere.'

'Did you just get here?' Ron pressed.

'Yes.' Harry reached for a bread roll.

'Are you going…?' Ron left the rest of the question unsaid.

'I don't have much of a choice, do I?' Harry replied bitterly. 'It's  _ expected _ .' He stared at the table top, ripping the bread to shreds.

Ginny suddenly shoved away from the table and stomped out of the Great Hall. She pelted down to the Quidditch pitch and the broom shed. Reaching in, she grabbed the first broom that came to hand, not noticing it was Draco Malfoy's Nimbus 2001. She mounted it, and kicked off, hurtling up into the clear sky. She flew in circles around the pitch, weaving in and out of the goalposts, going in sprints from one end of the pitch to the other, urging the broom to go faster and faster. At length, she directed the broom to the ground, and got off, panting. 'Like the broom, Weasley?' drawled a familiar voice, making Ginny cringe.

She looked down, eyes widening in shock, as she read the nameplate on the handle, and held it out to Draco. 'Sorry,' she mumbled. 'I wasn't paying attention.'

Draco took the broom from her, gazing dispassionately at it. 'I never liked it. Not like you or your brothers do. Or Potter.'

Ginny's eyebrows rose into her hairline.  _ Is he actually talking to me, like he's a normal person, and not a complete and total wanker? _

Draco didn't seem to notice her reaction, and continued to talk, more to himself that to her. 'Father thought I should play. Did a lot of things Father thought I should do.' Draco dropped the broom to the ground and savagely stomped on the twigs at the end, grinding them to powder. Ginny gasped softly. The broom might be six years old, but Nimbus 2001s were still quite valuable. Draco looked up at her. 'I'm sorry about your brother,' he said quietly. Ginny nodded stiffly. Draco dropped the broom handle and began to walk back to the castle. 'If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll deny it until the day I die,' he said in his usual insolent tone of voice.

Ginny waited until he was gone, then dropped to her knees next to the destroyed pile of twigs. Of all her brothers, Fred had been the one who had been most impressed by her Qudditch skills. And the most surprised. But he'd been most pleased when he found out how she'd learned to fly so well, proclaiming her to be the heir of Weasley pranking mantle when he and George left school. She couldn't hold it in anymore, and broke into raw, aching sobs.

She wept for Fred, but also for Colin, who had been in her class, and was a friend. And Remus, who helped her put the diary behind her. For Tonks, who had been like a sister to her. Teddy, who was never going to know how gentle his father was, or how vibrant his mother had been. Telling him stories would never fully capture his parents.

Ginny slowly stopped crying and realized she was lying facedown in the grass of the pitch. The shadows of the stands slanted sharply over the grass. She became aware of someone sitting next to her. Charlie sat cross-legged on the grass, his head bent toward his sketchbook, the pencil whispering across the paper. He said nothing, but held out a scarred and roughened hand out to her. Charlie squeezed Ginny's hand, and pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Ginny looked down at the portrait in the book. Her fingertip traced the sweep of Fred's hair, and she drew in a shuddering breath as the vision of his body lying in the Great Hall came into her mind. 'I can't believe he's gone…' she murmured.

Charlie tightened his grip on her. 'Me, either, Gin.'


	3. Withdrawing

Harry lay on his back, staring at the canopy over his bed. The service was supposed to begin at ten that morning. He hadn't slept all night, thinking about it. Hermione had wanted to talk about it, but Harry rebuffed her efforts and had run into the dormitory and crawled into his bed, pulling the curtains closed around it. The universal "do not disturb" sign at Hogwarts.

The service was going to be at ten. Then people would start to leave. To go home. Harry was going to the Burrow with the Weasleys. He honestly would have preferred to go anywhere else, just so he wouldn't have to face the accusing stares of the others. That it was his fault Fred was gone. He should have been able to do something to prevent it. But as it was, Harry didn't have anywhere else to go. He wondered if the Dursleys had been taken back to their house. He needed to go back and collect the things he'd left there.  _ Yes, think about that… Think about that, so you don't have to think about anything else. _ Who was it that had responsibility for them? Elphias Doge? No, Dedalus Diggle. Harry wondered if he would be at the service. He could ask Diggle not to bring them back to Surrey until… When? Today was Tuesday. If they could stay away until Thursday. He could leave the Burrow after everyone else was asleep, and go collect his things.  _ Yeah, that's what I'll do. _

'Harry?' Hermione's voice floated through the curtains. 'Harry, it's almost time…'

'Harry, mate, you need to get dressed.' Ron's voice joined Hermione's.

Harry reached out with one hand, and yanked the curtains back. He rolled off the bed and stood up. He'd been dressed for hours. Before any of the others had awakened. He just didn't want to go down until he had to. Saying nothing to either of his friends, he strode to the door.  _ Let's get this over with, shall we? _ Harry made it all the way to the bottom of the staircase that led to Gryffindor Tower, before he stopped. The sounds of people gathered on the sweeping lawn by the Black Lake made him freeze. His stomach churned.

He didn't notice Ron or Hermione on either side of him. 'We'll help you,' she whispered. Harry mutely nodded. Hermione's arm slipped around his waist, while Ron's arm wound around his shoulders.

'Come on, mate, just one step,' Ron muttered. 'Good. One more.'

Little by little they encouraged Harry to a row of seats in the back. Harry dropped into a chair and dumbly gazed around the assemblage. He could see Andromeda Tonks, a carrycot at her feet, and a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Harry's stomach heaved and he bent forward, gasping. He gagged, as if he was about to throw up, but nothing came up.  _ Teddy _ , he thought miserably. He saw the glitter of the sunshine on the myriad shades of red a few rows forward. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He could hardly bear to face Ron right now, much less Molly or Arthur. He saw Ginny sitting between George and Charlie, her hair tamed into a severe plait.

Taking several deep breaths, Harry opened his eyes. The same bloody wizard who had done Dumbledore's funeral was speaking. They were several feet away from Dumbledore's tomb. Harry was vaguely pleased to note that the repairs he had done on the tomb last night were seamless. The Elder Wand was back in its rightful location.

Harry's eyes raked the people around him.  _ Diggle… Where is he? _ There he was. Three rows in front of Andromeda. Harry could hear soft sniffles around him, and he realized the names of the dead were being read. He heard Hermione give a shuddering sigh as the name "Remus John Lupin" reached his ears. When the wizard read "Nymphadora Juliet Lupin", a baby's wail pierced the haze enveloping Harry. His head jerked up, and he saw Andromeda gently pat Teddy's back. Teddy's head was just visible, and Harry saw the turquoise tuft of hair fade into the sandy brown of his father's. He felt a hand wrap around his and looked down. Hermione was squeezing his hand so hard; Harry thought she might be grinding the bones of his hand together.

Harry was only half-listening when the wizard said, 'Severus Tobias Snape.' A hushed gasp rippled over the crowd. Harry swallowed hard against the lump in this throat. Harry wanted to stand up and shout out in defense of Snape, but the wizard had moved on.

'Frederick Gideon Weasley.' Ron's body jerked and Harry could feel it trembling with the effort to not cry. Harry reached a hand over and laid it on Ron's knee. Ron reached down and gripped Harry's hand harder than Hermione had. Harry could hear Ron's raspy breathing in his ear, and realized Ron's head had dropped to his shoulder.

Harry could feel the raw pain radiating from the audience. He wondered if they would ever be whole again.

At long last, the ceremony wound down, and Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. They were both pale and drawn-looking. 'I need to talk to someone for a moment,' he mumbled, and cornered Dedalus Diggle. 'Have you taken the Dursleys back to their house?' he said without preamble.

'I… Ah… No.'

Harry felt his head nod once. 'Can you wait until Thursday?'

Diggle seemed a bit surprised, but agreed. 'I can wait.'

'Thank you.' Harry strode back into the castle, looking neither right, not left. He hadn't been able to deal with his own grief, so the idea of shouldering someone else's was repugnant to him right now. It was eleven now. Molly had said they would go home after lunch. The idea of food made Harry's stomach lurch again. He hadn't eaten much since he had woken up yesterday. Mostly he drank a lot of pumpkin juice or butterbeer.

He slipped up the stairs to his dormitory and began to collect his things. It wasn't much. A few clothes, his moleskin pouch, the Marauder's Map, his wand.

He sat on the foot of his bed and waited.

* * *

Charlie climbed up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. He had volunteered to help repair and rebuild the school. The rest of the family had gone home that afternoon, and Charlie was left alone. The memorial that morning had been difficult, but not nearly as hard as the funerals were going to be. Molly and Arthur had decided Fred's would be Friday. Just three more days. Remus and Tonks' would be Saturday.

Charlie repressed a sigh. Too many damn funerals.

He got to the top of the tower and settled with his back against the wall and opened his sketchbook to a blank page, then took a stick of charcoal from the small canvas pouch that held his pencils. He drew without really seeing what blossomed on the paper until he realized he had drawn the graceful curve of Tonks' naked back. Biting his lip, Charlie shaded the small of her back, the cloak draping in folds about her hips. He felt somewhat ashamed that he drew her like this, but it had been one of the last times he'd seen his best friend before going to Romania.

The charcoal swooped in lines over one side of her shoulder. She'd worn her hair long that night. Charlie gently shaded the contours of her face with the side of his smallest finger, remembering. The first time had been over almost before it started. His mouth curled into a small smile. He'd been mortified. But he could remember her sitting up, the cloak she'd spread over the both of them, slithering down to her hips. She turned her head to look back at him, smiling.  _ We can try it again in a bit, _ she had told him. Charlie's breath hitched in his chest, and he pulled his knees under his chin, and rested his forehead on them. He took in a few deep breaths until it didn't hurt so badly to breathe.

Charlie picked up the sketchbook again and turned the page over. He hadn't known Remus well, but everyone from Bill down to Ginny had nothing but admirable things to say about him. Charlie had thought it odd that Tonks, who was so vivacious, the air around her nearly vibrated, would marry a man who was more than ten years her senior and who carried a perpetual air of solemnity and grief etched permanently on his face. At Bill's wedding, Remus had seemed upset and nervous about something. At the time, Charlie thought it might be regret for marrying Tonks, but when he saw Tonks a few months later, it was quite obvious just what had made Remus so upset. Tonks was visibly pregnant. Charlie couldn't blame the man for not jumping about with joy. It wasn't exactly the best time to have a baby. He couldn't have imagined doing something like that in that sort of environment. Her father was on the run, and nobody had seen Remus in three months.

Charlie's hand guided the charcoal over the paper in sweeping lines. Tonks, with her hair subdued into its natural soft brown, falling in waves to her shoulders, her hands curved over the swell of her child.

It was the last time he'd seen her alive.

Charlie's eyes closed and a single tear slid down his face and dripped of his chin to land on the paper with a soft  _ plop _ that echoed around the tower.

Later, as he lay in bed, Charlie realized he hadn't thought of Fred after the memorial service had concluded. Curling up on his side, Charlie knew it was far easier to mourn Tonks and he wasn't yet able to face Fred's death.

* * *

Hermione sat on the camp bed set up at the foot of Ginny's bed. She couldn't sleep. She sighed and rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees. She didn't know what do to right now. There had been a few times over the last several years where she'd felt like an outsider, but never more than she did now. Molly rebuffed offers for help, and cooked an enormous dinner that nobody ate. She practically tucked them all into bed, like they were babies. Hermione knew why Molly continually bustled about the house. It kept her busy, so she didn't have to dwell on the fact she would bury one of her children in a few days.  _ I should do that, _ she thought.  _ Keep myself busy.  _ Hermione started making lists in her head – things to see to about bringing her parents home.

She wrapped her arms more tightly around her knees. She desperately wanted to go up to the attic with Ron, but she didn't want to bother him. The service had hit Ron like a blow to the solar plexus, and he'd been undeniably hurt when Harry bolted back up to the dormitory after it was over. She'd seen the flash of it in his eyes, before they shuttered again.

The landing outside Ginny's door creaked and Hermione wondered who else was up. It could be Harry. She knew he hadn't slept last night. Blue smudges marred the skin under his eyes. It could be George. George, who had kept muttering that Fred was just playing a prank on them – he was going to wake up, until Fred's body grew as cold as the stone floor underneath him. He'd fallen silent, and as far as Hermione knew, hadn't said another word. George hadn't been sleeping much, either. It was written all over the planes of his face and in his sunken, bloodshot eyes. It could even be Ron, or Molly, or Arthur. She didn't want to get up and check. She didn't want to see someone else with haunted eyes that gazed past her. Hermione managed to swallow past the lump in her throat and she slid down in the camp bed, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.

The house was eerily silent. She shivered and pulled the blanket over her head.

* * *

Harry stood in the middle of the back garden and glared suspiciously at the gate. He knew they were out there. The reporters. They had been camped outside the front garden gate earlier that day. If anyone did leave the garden, they had been summarily swamped by reporters and photographers. Bill had barged into his old room, and grabbed Harry by the arm, hauling him downstairs. Harry had been afraid that Bill was going to make him talk to the reporters so they would leave, but instead he had asked him to help put wards up to keep the reporters out. With a grim smile, Harry nodded and the two of them proceeded to set up a boundary along the property line of the Burrow. It encompassed the front garden, the back garden, and the paddock. Down to a bend of the River Otter that ran along the boundary of the paddock. It would only allow members of the family through, and anyone they granted permission.

He turned and walked down to the end of the paddock, and climbed over a stone wall, feeling a slight tingle over his skin as he passed through the wards. He Disapparated to the end of Privet Drive.

He walked down the dark, quiet street to number four. It had stood vacant for nine months, and had an unkempt air about it, the windows dark and dirty.  _ Petunia'll have a stroke _ , Harry thought, at the idea of his aunt coming home to find the house in such sad shape.  _ What would she have expected? A maid to come in once a week? _ Harry snorted.  _ Probably. _ He drew his wand from his pocket and jabbed it at the door. It unlocked with a soft  _ click _ and Harry walked up to it and let himself in.

He ignored the cupboard under the stairs and went swiftly up the stairs to the smallest bedroom. He put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door. His trunk still stood at the foot of the bed, and Harry Banished all the belongings that he'd left behind last July into the trunk. Everything. Old school uniforms, textbooks, anything he hadn't thrown away last summer. He closed the trunk and bewitched it so it only weighed a fraction of what it normally would, and took one last look around the room. The wardrobe door creaked open, and Harry's eyes widened as a small, childish drawing of Hedwig came into view. 'Hedwig,' he whispered. His legs folded underneath him, and he huddled on the floor, unashamedly weeping for his owl. He hauled himself to his feet, shaking, and tenderly took the drawing off the door, and tucked it inside the trunk before carrying it downstairs and out of the house.

He locked the door and walked to the end of the street. 

Harry never looked back at number four, Privet Drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote Herman, I was thinking about the story 'The Velveteen Rabbit'. Although, I don't think Herman will turn into a real dragon.
> 
> It's not clear in Deathly Hallows or on the HP Lexicon what the timeline is of Remus' absence from the Tonks' household. He meets up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione a day or two after Bill and Fleur's wedding, and we don't hear from him again until he's on the Potterwatch broadcast with Kingsley, Lee, and the twins, which is sometime in March, according to the HPL. That's when Ron finally tells the other two that Remus has gone home to Tonks, and since Ron rejoined Harry and Hermione just after Christmas, it had to happen before then. So when Charlie's drawing the picture of a pregnant Tonks, it's roughly mid-November.
> 
> Tonks also doesn't have a middle name that we know of, and since I've written elsewhere that her parents liked Romeo and Juliet, I think that might have been a bit of romanticism on their part. And it's girlie enough to make the very tomboyish Tonks want to gag.
> 
> Snape doesn't have one, either, as far as I know, but considering his father's name was Tobias, it was a good bet.


	4. Illi Autem Sunt In Pace

They gathered on the staircase, just outside the kitchen. Ron on the fourth step from the floor, Hermione on the third, sitting between his knees, her back against his chest. Percy sat next to Ron, and George huddled two steps above them, Ginny next to him. It was entirely too quiet for Ginny. The Burrow had never been this quiet and hushed. It was always full of music from the wireless, Molly shouting at someone, explosions from Fred and George's room. Even the ghoul was quiet. A creak on the stairs above them, made Ginny jump. She looked up and saw Harry standing uncertainly on the landing, before he sat down on the top step. He saw Ginny looking at him, and looked away, his already pale face whitening even more. Ginny stiffened slightly and looked down at the riser under her feet. He hadn't talked to her since he woke up the first time. She knew he wasn't just avoiding her. He'd been avoiding everybody.

When they returned to the Burrow the day before, Molly had put him in Bill's old room, rather than the attic with Ron. Harry had at least come down for dinner, but like everyone else, just picked at it. Immediately after the table had been cleared, Harry slipped back into Bill's room and this was the first time he'd been out since.

Snatches of conversation drifted from the kitchen, where Molly, Arthur, and Andromeda were trying to organize the funerals. They could hear the shuffle of paper and parchment, scratching of quills, the soft  _ clink _ as they replaced teacups in saucers. They had heard Charlie come into the kitchen a few minutes earlier. 'I don't know,' Molly sighed. 'Arthur, what do you think?'

'I'm no good with flowers, Molly. You pick.'

The conversation descended into indistinct murmurs until they heard Arthur's voice come up the stairs. 'I can't do this. I can't pick a headstone for my child…'

'This one.' It was Charlie. 'This one, with his name and dates. That's it.'

George's head lifted and he stood up suddenly, and tore down the stairs, stumbling into the kitchen. 'And put "Mischief Managed" underneath,' he said hoarsely. There was a pause, and then they heard him add pleadingly, 'Please, Dad? It has to be that way. I promised him…' George's voice broke and the next thing they heard was the sound of the back door slamming shut.

'I'll go after him,' Percy said. 'Doesn't have his wand, he can't go far.'

'How do you know he hasn't got his wand?' Ron asked.

Percy allowed a smug look to come into his eyes. 'Because I switched his out with one of the fake ones while he was in the bathroom earlier.'

Ginny found herself breaking out in giggles, bordering on hysteria. 'That's something Fr –' She caught herself. ' _ He _ would have done.'

Percy reached down and stroked the top of her head. 'Yeah, I know…' He lightly went down the stairs and followed George out the back door.

Ginny looked up at the landing. It was empty.

* * *

It was bright. Too bright. Too sunny. Too cheerful. Too everything. Ginny stood next to George, her arm around his waist. George hadn't spoken since Wednesday afternoon. Percy stood on the other side, one hand under George's elbow. A wizard was speaking in front of a simple coffin, covered in pansies, columbines, and daisies. Arthur disengaged himself from Molly's tight grasp of his hand, and went to say a few words about his son. Ginny didn't hear what he said. The words weren't important. It was the cadence of his voice. The way he stopped every so often, and drew in a shaky breath, or how it sounded strangled a few times. Ginny knew Arthur wouldn't weep here. He would do it later. After he'd seen to everyone else. She knew Molly would collapse in utter misery here, and once they got home, force feed them all, even though nobody had eaten much in days.

The wizard officiating waved his wand gently, and Fred's coffin slowly descended into the earth. George trembled with the effort to stay upright. Molly wept in earnest, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. Ginny could see the damp patches on her mother's robes where the tears had fallen. Arthur stooped and picked up a handful of earth and scattered it over Fred's coffin. The soft sounds of the earth dropping to the wood stood in harsh contrast to the sounds of Molly's grief. Arthur bent to whisper in her ear, and helped her scatter her own handful over Fred.

One by one, the other family members stepped forward, took a handful of earth, and like Arthur, gently swept their open hand over the open grave. Ginny's vision swam with unshed tears as she stood on the edge of Fred's grave, watching the dark crumbs of earth land on the bright flowers. George came to stand next to her, tears falling unheeded down his cheeks. He stood with the earth tightly clenched in his fist, suspended over the gaping hole in the ground, unwilling to open his fingers. Ginny whispered, 'You don't have to.' George shook his head, his shaggy hair flying, offering a glimpse of the hole where his ear used to be. One finger at a time, George uncurled his fist and tilted his palm down.

Ginny looked across the expanse of the cemetery. Harry stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring straight ahead. He seemed to be trying his hardest to disappear into the trunk of the tree behind him. She took George's arm, and led him away, and as she did so, the wizard waved his wand, and the earth settled into the open grave, creating a neat mound. He waved his wand again and the simple polished granite headstone bearing the words, "Frederick Gideon Weasley, 1 April 1978 – 2 May 1998, Mischief Managed," appeared.

They filed out of the cemetery, and began to head back to the Burrow, the guests following behind. Harry watched them, seemingly impassive, but inside he shook as hard as George had. He waited until the cemetery was deserted, and he was the only one left. Stepping forward, he crouched down next to the headstone and reached out with a trembling hand, tracing the letters of Fred's name.  _ I should have done it alone. I shouldn't have had anyone else help. I should have… If I hadn't done it like this, Fred would still be alive… _ Harry's stomach clenched in a knot and he felt tears well up in his eyes. Inhaling strongly through his nose, he sat back on his heels, rearranging himself so his knees were pulled to his chest. He rocked back and forth, his face buried in his knees.  _ I'm so sorry, Fred. I didn't want this. I never wanted any of this to happen. It's my fault all of you are dead. I took you away from your parents. God, they must hate me right now. Gin does. I see it every time she looks at me. I don't know what to say to any of them, because sorry doesn't seem to be good enough… _

* * *

George sat in a corner of the sitting room, a bottle of butterbeer he didn't want cradled between his hands. He glanced around the room, thinking he was going to see Fred from the corner of his eye. Still. Even after he knew Fred wasn't coming back. Everybody bore signs of grief. Everyone but Charlie. Charlie seemed to be unaffected by it. It made George's blood boil.  _ How can he just sit there? _ 'What the hell is the matter with you?' he bellowed, throwing the bottle across the room. It hit the opposite wall and shattered, splattering the wallpaper and floor with amber liquid.

Bill laid a hand on George's shoulder. 'George…'

George irritably shrugged Bill's hand off. 'Geroff me, Bill.' He whirled around to Charlie. 'Your brother's dead! He's not even cold in his grave yet, and you can just sit there and bloody  _ draw _ ! Damn you, Charlie, can't you even manage to squeeze out one effing tear for your  _ brother _ ?' Swiftly George yanked the sketchbook from Charlie's lap and began tearing pages from it.

Charlie leapt from his seat. 'George,  _ no _ , don't, please…' he said, stricken.

'Why?' shouted George, throwing the book to the floor. 'Is there something that important in there?' Charlie just bit his lip and looked at the welter of charcoal sketches littering the floor. George stomped to the back door. 'That's what I thought,' he spat.

Charlie stood in the middle of the sitting room, his eyes fixed on a flower woven into the rug. He couldn't hear Fleur's whispered  _ Reparo _ over the rush of blood in his ears. She knelt to retrieve the fallen book and handed it to Charlie with a look of sympathy in her eyes. 'Thanks,' he mumbled.

She gave him a shrewd look. 'You need zome air,' she pronounced, pulling him out into the front garden. She settled gracefully on the grass under a tree and patted the ground next to her. 'Zeet.'

Charlie dropped to the ground next to her. 'I'm sorry…'

Fleur waved off his apologies. ' _ Non _ . No need to apolozhize to me.' She held out her hand. 'May I? Zee ze book?'

'Uh… Sure,' Charlie muttered, handing the sketchbook to her, feeling like he was about to dance around naked in front of her.

Fleur paged through the book. 'Eet ees good,' she told him.

'Thanks.'

Fleur closed the book, and gave it back to Charlie. 'Zometimes, people, zey do not cry at ze funeral, no?'

'I dunno,' Charlie replied shrugging.

'You did not.' Fleur sat quietly for a moment. 'My grandmuzzer died during my feefth year of school. I… I could not cry at her funeral, eizer. I was too stunned.' She squeezed Charlie's hand and stood up. 'Zhust because you cannot cry, it does not mean it does not hurt. Zometimes, eet means eet hurts too much to cry.' With that, she walked back into the house.

* * *

George ran back to the cemetery, barely able to see from the tears in his eyes. He barrelled through the gate and threw himself on the raw earth of Fred's grave, fingers digging into the soil. 'We were supposed to go together,' he sobbed. 'You promised me we'd do everything together. You weren't supposed to die without me!' George sobbed harder, nearly screaming, deep, wrenching wails pouring from his throat.

He wept until his throat was sore and his eyes were so swollen, he could barely see. George slid his body off the grave, and lay with his head pillowed on where he imagined Fred's shoulder to be. He closed his eyes against the pounding in his head, and fell asleep.

The sun shining directly in George's eyes woke him up the next morning. He sat up stiffly, rubbing the crick from his neck, blinking in the bright sunshine. He heard a rustle behind him and slowly turned, the blood freezing in his veins. Not all the Death Eaters were at Hogwarts and not all of them had been captured. He went limp with relief to find it was Charlie. 'How long have you been there?' he asked gruffly.

'All night,' Charlie said simply. He held a piece of paper toward George. 'That's what I was drawing yesterday.'

George looked down at the image of him and Fred as five-year olds, sporting jagged haircuts. 'I remember this,' he breathed. 'We nicked Mum's sewing scissors and started hacking away. Fred got shirty because his hair was shorter than mine and we didn't look alike anymore.'

'Yeah.' Charlie gulped. 'I miss him, too, George,' he said in a throaty croak, blinking rapidly and looking away into the sunrise, to hide the tears that sprang to his eyes.

* * *

Harry stood behind a group of people, fingernails digging into his palms. This time, there were two. Two coffins containing people who would never see their son grow up. A spray of deep purple wolfsbane rested on one of them. Harry's eyes squeezed shut, as a long-ago echo came into his head, of his first day of Potions his first year, along with it, a remembrance of his promise to McGonagall to bury Snape.

Teddy wouldn't stop crying, no matter what Andromeda tried. Harry didn't blame him. He wanted to cry like that himself, but he didn't think anyone would comfort him. His fault. His fault Andromeda had lost her only child. His fault she had lost her husband. His fault her grandchild was orphaned.  _ What were you thinking, Remus? What were both of you thinking, leaving your baby like that? You should have stayed home… _ He clenched his jaw painfully to suppress the choking sobs that hovered under the surface. Remus had been his last link to his father. When he closed his eyes at night, he could see Remus' still hand spread over the stone floor, his wedding ring glinting in the light of a flickering torch.

'Oh, God,' Harry mouthed, as he bent double, retching. When he straightened with a gasp, the officiating wizard had already waved his wand and the coffins were neatly covered by earth, graves crowned with a single large headstone. Like Fred's funeral the day before, Harry waited until the cemetery had cleared, before going up to the graves. His fingers traced each word carved into the blue-veined marble. 'Remus John Lupin, 10 March 1960 – 2 May 1998, Nymphadora Juliet Lupin, 23 March 1973 – 2 May 1998.' He dropped to the ground, unable to hold the sobs back any longer, shoulders shaking with the effort it took to silence them.

Rising to his feet, he stumbled from the cemetery, shoving through the throng of people standing around the Tonks' house. He came to a stop in front of Andromeda. 'Your sister saved my life,' he blurted. 'Narcissa. She lied to Riddle and told him I was dead. She stood up to Bellatrix,' he babbled. 'I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry about Mr. Tonks, and Tonks, and Remus. It was my fault. They shouldn't have been at the castle. They shouldn't have had to die because of me…' Harry caught his breath and darted from the house, running. He finally stopped when the stitch in his side became painful enough to keep him from being able to breathe properly. He didn't know where he was, and he didn't want to go back to Andromeda's house. He Disapparated to the edge of the Burrow and trudged from the end of the paddock to the house and slipped inside. He staggered up the stairs to the first floor, and fell into the bed of Bill's old room. Harry pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and curled on his side, facing the wall.

Voices wafted into the house as someone ran inside and slowly opened the bedroom door. Harry shut his eyes, feigning sleep, and the door closed. 'Mum!' Ron called softly, clattering down the stairs. 'Mum, he's here…'

Harry rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling.

* * *

Harry hunched his shoulders against the chilly rain that fell and snaked down the collar of his shirt.  _ Rain fits this one. _

There was no eulogy. No warm words of remembrance. No one else, save for Harry and the wizened wizard who had done the memorial last week.

He glanced up and could see his parents' gleaming white headstones from where he stood. Snape's was in line with his mother's.  _ It was the least I could do. Let him be with Mum. Sort of. _

'Mr. Potter?' the wizard stood at Harry's elbow. 'It's done.'

Harry looked down at the grave at his feet – the burial was finished. A small slab of black marble bore Snape's name and the dates of his birth and death. And the phrase  _ Ne obliviscaris _ – never forget – engraved underneath.

It was there to remind Harry what he owed Snape. He owed him his very life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Illi autem sunt in pace" loosely translated means, 'but they are at rest'.


	5. One Step Forward, Ten Steps Back

Ginny rubbed the back of her hand under her nose, attempting to stifle an explosive sneeze tickling the back of her throat. The dust lay in a thick layer all over the furniture and floors of the flat over the joke shop. It had been weeks since anyone had been there, and George flatly refused to set foot in the flat. She opened a bureau drawer and pulled out a handful of haphazardly folded t-shirts, setting them in a bag next to her feet. Percy stood at the wardrobe, folding the dragon hide jackets. Ginny looked back into the drawer, her hand resting on a pile of blue wool. She pulled out a jumper and held it up. It had a large yellow G knitted on the front. She remembered Molly knitting this one, along with its brother adorned with an F the year before she'd started school. She peered into the drawer and withdrew the matching jumper. She laid them in the bag and opened another drawer. Percy walked over with a few traveling cloaks and tucked them into the bag. 'I think that's everything,' he told her.

'Yeah,' she agreed, then sneezed several times in quick succession. She pulled out her wand, and with a sly look at Percy, who promptly turned his back to her, murmured a quick Scouring spell, and the dust vanished. 'There, that's done.'

Percy turned around. 'What's done?' he asked innocently, winking at her. He bent to pick up the bag and held out a hand to Ginny. 'Let's go. Mum's still a bit tetchy about us being gone longer than we said we would.'

'Thanks for helping me do this,' Ginny said, as she put her hand into Percy's outstretched one.

'Not a problem, Gin,' he replied, before turning, and Apparating them both back to the Burrow.

They reappeared in the lane by the gate to the back garden. The reporters camped outside immediately swarmed them, and Ginny recognized the square, mannish face of Rita Skeeter in the crowd, and began coughing from the purple smoke emitted by the cameras. 'Bloody vultures,' she muttered venomously, shoving the gate open.

'There's no story here,' Percy firmly told the reporters. Ginny looked up at the house, to the window of Bill's old bedroom. The curtains twitched, and she knew Harry had seen the swarm of reporters that accosted them. Percy spat an annoyed epithet at the photographer with Rita Skeeter and followed Ginny through the gate.

They went into the house and up to Percy's old room, where George sat on the bed, with his back against the wall. Percy dropped the bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. 'That's the lot, then.'

George glanced up. 'Thanks, Perce,' he said softly.

'Not at all, George.'

'George?' Ginny asked. 'Do you want anything else? From your room?'

He shook his head. 'No, thank you. Charlie got it all last week.' He turned his head to look out the window. Since his explosion after Fred's funeral, he hadn't spoken to anyone much. He hadn't even glanced inside his old bedroom. And he had refused to go to the shop with them to collect their clothing. When they had come home three weeks ago, George had gone straight past the door to his room, and gone to Percy's. He hadn't even mentioned reopening the shop. Ginny walked into the room, and sat on the bed next to George.

She didn't recognize this creature next to her. It wasn't the playful, mischievous boy she'd grown up with. This person was just as much a stranger to her as the other wraithlike-boy in the house. The one hiding in Bill's room, to be exact. She turned her attention away from Harry, and leaned against George. 'You don't have to babysit me, Gin,' George told her.

'I'm not.'

'Thanks for going to the shop.'

Ginny shrugged. 'I dusted a bit.'

George didn't laugh or smile, but a puff of air through his nose was the closest thing he did anymore. 'Underage magic, huh?'

Ginny leaned closer to George. 'Percy made a joke…' she confessed.

George's mouth twitched. 'Did he?'

'About not seeing me do underage magic.'

'That's almost a comedic routine for Percy,' George said. He nudged Ginny gently. 'Go on. I'll be all right.'

'Mum will have a fit if you don't come down for dinner tonight,' Ginny warned as she slid off the bed.

George nodded, and turned his gaze back to the window. 'I'll try,' he murmured. 'Can't promise…'

Ginny sighed and padded down the stairs and went outside. She threw open the door to the broom shed so hard, it nearly tore off its hinges. She reached inside, and wrapped her fingers around the first broom handle she touched, not caring whose it was. She mounted the broom, and kicked off, aiming for the paddock, flying low to the ground, her sandaled toes skimming just above the grass. Seeing a stand of trees marking the north end of the paddock, she tilted the broom, and steered through a gap parallel to the ground. It was a move she had been doing since the age of eight. 'Nice move,' a gravelly voice said.

Ginny stopped suddenly, and pitched forward off the broom, tumbling to the ground, landing on a shoulder. 'Ow,' she breathed. She slowly sat up, rubbing the offended joint, and shoved her loose hair from her face. A broad-shouldered woman came into view, sitting on the stone wall that separated the paddock from the back garden. Ginny whipped her wand from the pocket of her trousers, and aimed it suspiciously at the woman lounging nonchalantly on the wall. 'Who're you?'

'Gwenog Jones. We met at Slughorn's Christmas party, oh, a year and a half ago, I guess. That hair of yours is quite unforgettable.'

Ginny self-consciously ran a hand through the bright auburn strands. 'Right. I remember. How'd you get in here?'

'I knew Bill and Charlie at school. I came to offer my condolences.' Gwenog spoke in gruff, brusque tones. 'I've heard about you from Oliver Wood. And if your twin brothers had been girls, I'd have tried to recruit them for my team.' She had an unsentimental air about her that reminded Ginny of some of the more hard-core Quidditch players she knew. 'I saw you flying on my way into the house. Looks good. Landing could use some work.'

Ginny twitched irritably. 'You startled me.' She shoved the wand back into her pocket, and bent to pick up the fallen broom. She noticed the nameplate on the handle.  _ Fred Weasley _ . Swallowing hard, she ran a fingertip over it. She wondered if George would mind that she'd borrowed Fred's broom.

'What year will you be in at school in September?' Gwenog continued blithely.

'Seventh,' Ginny replied shortly.

'Playing on your House team?'

'I'd planned on it,' Ginny said warily.

'Think you might be your team's Captain?'

'Dunno. Maybe.'

'Wood's told me you can play Chaser and Seeker equally well.'

'Oh, well… I wouldn't go that far…' Ginny demurred. 'I'm a better Chaser by far.'

'Hmm.' Gwenog squinted at Ginny, giving her a slow look from her head to her toes. Ginny returned her look with a narrow-eyed look of her own. 'I'll have to come see you play, then. Got a Chaser retiring next summer, and Wood says you've got more talent in your little finger than most of the Chasers playing professionally in Britain.'

'Let me walk you back to the house,' Ginny muttered, starting to walk back to the Burrow.

'Ever thought about playing professionally?' Gwenog asked, falling into step next to Ginny.

'Not really,' Ginny answered.

'You ought to. You're a very good flier. And I don't say that to just anybody.'

'Thanks.'

'What about that boyfriend of yours?'

Ginny felt something akin to anger vibrate through her hands. 'He's not my boyfriend,' she corrected coldly.

'My mistake. Do you know if he's wanting to play? I know of quite a few teams who would pay almost anything to have Harry Potter on their team. Wood also tells me he's an unbelievable Seeker.'

'He is,' Ginny said quietly. 'But you'll have to ask him. And good luck with that, because he's not talking to anybody.' She opened the back door, and gestured for Gwenog to precede her.

* * *

Hermione rolled over, punching her pillow. She wasn't sleeping well lately. Not since they had come home. She was still so tired. She had slept in Ron's bed with him in Gryffindor Tower that first night, but in her own the next. And when they had come back to the Burrow, she slept in Ginny's room with her, despite the fact there was an available bedroom, but seeing as it had been Fred and George's room, nobody wanted to stay in there.

Shacklebolt had come round for dinner two days ago, and Hermione cornered him afterward. She revealed everything about her parents – what she had done to them, the Memory charms she had used, where she had sent them. Then she had swallowed her pride and asked for help. He promised to help her, to send her to Australia to find her parents. It was going to take time to set up, given the shambles the Ministry was in, but he had promised it would be soon.

Hermione knew she was going to have to tell her parents everything. She owed them that. She wasn't so sure they would forgive her for it, though.

Sighing, Hermione threw the blanket off and slid off the camp bed, and tiptoed to the door. She glanced at Ginny, who was feigning sleep with an intensity that rivaled anything Harry could produce. Hermione decided to leave it alone, and slipped out the door, and stole up the stairs to the fifth floor, wincing every time the stairs creaked under her foot. She held her breath going up the stairs from the fourth to fifth floors, praying she didn't wake Molly or Arthur. She'd have to explain what she was doing on the landing, considering the bathroom was two floors below.

Hermione twisted the doorknob slowly, and peered around the door. Ron was lying on his side, facing away from the door. The occasional snort issued from his partially open mouth, making Hermione's mouth twitch with a slight smile. She closed the door, and walked to Ron's bed, lifting the edge of the sheet with one hand, and climbed in behind him, draping an arm over his waist. Ron turned over and pulled her closer, nuzzling the side of her neck. His eyes flew open and he gasped, 'Bloody hell, you're not a dream!'

'No, I'm not.' Hermione snuggled closer.

'What are you doing in here? Mum'll have a litter of Kneazles if she finds you here!'

'I'll go back down to Ginny's room before your mum wakes up. And I don't sleep well without you anymore,' she confessed.

'I don't either.'

'You seemed to be doing all right when I came in,' Hermione pointed out.

'Yeah, but I tossed and turned for three hours.' Ron's head turned on the pillow. Hermione's eyes were wide with unhappiness. 'What's wrong?' he asked.

'What if I can't reverse the charm?'

'You will,' Ron assured her. 'And if you can't, they're not going to let you go in alone.'

'I don't trust anybody from the Ministry right now. Any Ministry.'

'What about Kingsley? And Percy?'

Hermione waved a hand in the air. 'They don't count.'

'Oh, okay,' Ron mumbled, clearly falling asleep again. 'Go to sleep, Hermione,' he added.

Hermione dropped a soft kiss over Ron's cheek. She burst into a spate of giggles. 'If I told Lavender and Parvati that you and I have been sharing a bed for most of the past nine months and not a thing happened, they'd never believe me.'

Ron stiffened and his eyes opened again. 'Girls… Talk about that sort of thing?' he asked weakly.

'Of course we do,' she replied crisply. 'G'night, Ron,' she added. In a few minutes, sleep claimed her. Ron lay awake far longer, wondering just how much Lavender had told Parvati and Hermione in their dormitory at night.

* * *

_ Harry opened his eyes and looked around. He didn't know where he was, but it didn't look like King's Cross. It didn't look like anything. He felt something brush against the back of his head and whipped around. 'Mum?' he whispered. 'Is that you?' _

_ Nobody answered. _

_ He turned in a slow circle, searching through the fog for somebody else. 'Dad? Remus? Sirius?' _

' _ Potter…' The silkily oily voice sent shivers up Harry's spine. _

_ Harry froze on the spot, before he looked over his shoulder. 'Sn – Professor Snape.' _

_ Snape merely stood there, looking at Harry with his flat, black eyes. Expressionless. Harry's eyes dropped to the floor. When he looked up, Colin Creevey had joined Snape. Harry shook his head. The sound of a leaf skittering across concrete made him look behind him. 'Cedric,' Harry breathed. One by one, the others appeared. Bertha Jorkins. An elderly man Harry remembered from the graveyard his fourth year. Bathilda Bagshot. Remus and Tonks. The girl Ginny had been comforting as he walked into the Forest. Mad-Eye. Ted Tonks. Sirius. James. Lily. _

_ Harry gasped, and spun around. He smacked into someone. It was Fred. _

_ None of them spoke. They took a few steps toward him. Harry shuddered as something brushed the top of his head. He looked up and saw Hedwig light on Sirius' shoulder. His hand grazed over something leathery, and Harry jerked his hand away, as if he'd been burnt. He looked down, and saw the bat-like ears of Dobby. Dobby gazed up at him with his large tennis ball eyes. _

_ Harry started backing away, but the people on the other side of the circle began to press in around him. More and more people had joined them. People Harry didn't recognize, but whispers of their names drifted around him. People who had died fighting Voldemort. Harry couldn't breathe. He twisted, trying to find a way out, and came face-to-face with Dumbledore. _

_ Harry felt like he was suffocating. _

' _ Get off me!' he shouted, choking… _

'I can't breathe!'

'Harry…' Molly stood next to the bed, shaking Harry.

'NO!' Harry shouted. 'Let go of me!'

'Harry! Wake up!' Molly shook him harder.

Ginny pushed through her parents with her wand. ' _ Aguamenti _ ,' she snapped. Cold water flowed from her wand and splashed over Harry's face and head. Harry's eyes snapped open and Ginny inhaled sharply. His pupils had dilated, driving all trace of the dark green iris away. He shrank away from Molly's soothing hand, urging him out of the wet bed and all but fell to the floor. He stumbled to the door, but skidded to a stop when he saw Ron, Hermione, and George clustered on the landing.

'Oh, God,' he moaned, and crumpled to the floor in a damp heap.

Ron crouched next to Harry and gingerly prodded him. 'I think he's just fainted,' he pronounced.

'No wonder,' Molly sniffed. 'Hasn't eaten enough to keep a pixie alive in weeks.'

Hermione waved her wand over Harry, drying the water from his hair and t-shirt. Arthur was doing the same to the bed. Molly jabbed her wand at the bedding, and it neatly tucked and draped itself over the now-dry bed. She added a light Warming charm and stepped back. Arthur slid his hands under Harry's arms and hoisted him up. 'Ron, take his feet, will you?' he asked. Ron bent to grasp Harry's feet and helped his father lay Harry back into the bed. Molly drew the sheet and blanket over Harry and tucked them around his body, pausing to tenderly brush the hair from his face.

Ginny spent a few minutes examining Harry's face in the dim glow of the lamp. His eyes were shadowed, and the bones of his face jutted in sharp relief to the hollows of his cheeks. He had barely left the room when any of them could see him. This was the first time any of them had been able to get a good look at him for longer than the few minutes of the occasional meal since the funerals. 'Gin, come on.' Arthur tugged her hand. 'Let's leave him be.' She followed Molly out of the room, and filed down the stairs with Ron and Hermione.

Ron dropped tiredly into a chair. 'What was that about?' At Hermione's contemptuous snort, he straightened up indignantly. 'I know what it was about,' he explained stiffly. 'I know he's feeling guilty about it all, I just wonder what he was dreaming about…'

'It's not the first one,' Ginny said suddenly. 'He's usually had one every night.'

'How do you know?' Molly asked, standing at the stove, preparing porridge.

'He usually wakes up before he starts screaming,' Ginny stated. 'There's usually a lot of thrashing and incoherent mumbling and moaning before the screaming, and he'll wake up.' When Molly looked at her skeptically, Ginny huffed, 'I  _ am _ in the room next door to his. Not like the walls are so thick you can't hear through them.'

'She's right,' George said faintly. 'I can hear him, too.'

'I'll talk to him, Molly,' Arthur told her. 'When I get home from work.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged a skeptical look. They knew if Harry wanted to be left alone, he could avoid people for days if he wanted.

* * *

Harry sat up and looked around the bed. He rubbed his forehead and tried to remember what his dream had been about. Since Riddle died his dreams were, well,  _ normal _ dreams, not visions, or whatever they were, from Riddle. Sometimes he could remember them, and sometimes they were as elusive as the mist that draped the valley in the early mornings.

Harry shoved the blankets aside, noting the bed had been neatly made. He wondered when that had happened. The bed had been rather in a shambles when he'd finally gone to sleep sometime after two that morning. He opened the door and slipped up the stairs to the bathroom, relieved to find it was available. He took a sketchy shower, and dressed quickly, not bothering to dry himself. His shirt and jeans clung unpleasantly to his skin while he brushed his teeth. Harry stopped in Bill's bedroom, and grabbed his trainers. Kreacher had tried to clean them at Hogwarts, but they still bore signs of the hardships of the past year. He made his way down the stairs and out the front door, avoiding the kitchen with its homey sounds of cutlery clinking gently on plates. The scent of sugar, porridge, and milk assaulted his nostrils, making his stomach churn. He still hadn't managed more than some dry toast since that morning after the battle. Not that he hadn't tried. A few times a week, he attempted to join the family for a meal, but the food stuck in his throat. It tasted like cardboard, and trying to choke down more than a bite or two took all the energy he had. He moved the food around his plate for a decent amount of time, then excused himself, often darting up to Bill's room, or going out the front door, and around the side of the house, and back to the bend of the River Otter. There was a clump of willows where he could sit for hours, virtually undetected. It was where he headed now.

He dropped to the ground under the drooping branches of the willows and leaned against the trunk. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember his dream. All he could remember was a feeling of suffocation, followed by a feeling of affection he normally associated with his parents. He thought he'd felt his mother run her hand over his hair, but he wasn't sure. For all he knew, it was only part of the dream.


	6. Okay To Smile

Harry cracked open the door and peered through the small gap he had created. It was early. Molly hadn't even gotten up yet. He ran up the stairs, wincing as they creaked loudly in the still house. He cast a guilty look at the partially open door of Percy's room, where he knew George slept. Of all the family members, he had avoided George the most. He knew how much his losses had hurt, but he couldn't begin to imagine how George felt. He and Fred had been virtually inseparable when Fred was alive, and Harry thought George seemed to be lost without his twin. Harry continued up to the third floor, his eyes on the worn carpet runner that lined the stairs. He didn't look up until he slammed into someone coming down the stairs.

He looked up into George's pale face, stunned. Neither of them said anything, and Harry's hands convulsed on the clothes in his hands. George gave him a veiled look, one that Harry couldn't interpret. He ducked his head and ran up the rest of the way to the bathroom, shutting the door. Harry locked the door and placed his clothes on the edge of the pedestal sink. He stripped his pajamas off, and tested the lock. He sank to the edge of the tub clad in his boxers and let his head drop into his hands. A soft knock interrupted the swirling thoughts that never seemed to leave. 'Harry?' George called hoarsely through the door. 'I'll blast the damn door off, if you don't unlock it.' Harry didn't move. George rattled the door, then muttered, 'Right, then.' Harry heard him leave then in a moment heard him mutter, ' _ Alohamora _ .' A loud squawk reached Harry's ears. 'What the hell?' George breathed. 'Who the hell switched my wand?'

Harry stood up, and unlocked the door. He opened it to discover George staring at a floppy rubber chicken. 'Percy. Last month.' When George opened his mouth, Harry quickly added, 'I don't know why.' He started to close the door again, but George put his hand up to keep the door from closing.

George stepped through the door. 'Look, I know you're beating yourself up about everything.' Harry's head snapped up, but he didn't say anything. 'None of it was your fault. You didn't ask for any of it. You didn't ask us to be there.  _ We _ chose to go,' he continued thickly. 'It wasn't your fault.' He left, closing the bathroom door softly.

Harry stared at the doorknob. He wanted to believe George. He remembered the way it had felt when Molly hugged him last year on his birthday. He wished he could do that now, to throw himself into Molly's arms and cry. He couldn't face them just yet. It was much easier to continue in this way, drifting from one day to the next. It didn't hurt as much.

* * *

Ginny sighed and kicked the sofa. Ron and Hermione had disappeared again. They had taken to leaving the house after lunch and going Merlin-knew-where for hours. They always came back to the house just before dinner with slightly sheepish expressions on their faces. Ginny was bored without them. It was hot out and she was dying to go swimming, but she hated swimming alone. She impatiently huffed and dropped to the sofa. 'All right, Ginny?' Molly settled on the other end of the sofa with her knitting.

'Yeah…' Ginny held up one end of the jumper Molly was knitting. 'Christmas jumpers already, Mum?'

'Mmm-hmm. Have eleven to make this year,' Molly said. She blinked and the color in her cheeks faded slightly as she realized that it would be only be ten jumpers under the tree at Christmas. 'One will be for Teddy,' she added quickly.

'Of course, Mum,' Ginny said smoothly. She hadn't missed Molly's mistake, nor her deliberate attempt to cover it up.

'We ought to think about getting your things for school soon,' Molly said, in an attempt to change the subject.

'Got plenty of time, Mum,' Ginny replied, picking up a skein of wool, and digging through Molly's basket for a set of needles. 'Which ones do you have made?'

'Just started your father's.'

'I'll do Fleur's,' Ginny murmured, looking down at the skein she held in her hand, and realizing the dusky pink would compliment Fleur's coloring.

Molly's needles stopped for a moment, then continued. 'That's nice of you. I know the two of you haven't always got on well.'

Ginny shrugged and leafed through a pattern book. 'It's all right.'

'You don't have to stay inside all the time, Gin,' Molly said, glancing at her from the corner of her eye.

'Where would I go?' Ginny huffed. 'Can't leave the house or garden unless you want to be accosted by the wankers who think there's a story here,' she sniffed contemptuously. 'I hate reporters.'

'Ginny! Mind your language,' Molly corrected automatically.

'Sorry, Mum.' Ginny found a pattern that would suit Fleur and began to cast the first row of stitches. They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Ginny ventured, 'You wouldn't happen to know where Ron and Hermione go, do you?'

'They can't go far,' Molly remarked. 'I don't think either of them want to face the barbarian hordes.'

Ginny snorted. When they had come in the night before, Ron's shirt had been buttoned up wrong, and both of them looked rather disheveled. 'They certainly go far enough,' she muttered.

'What was that, dear?' Molly asked distractedly.

Ginny shook her head. 'Nothing.' Being the youngest of seven –  _ Six now _ , she thought – had given her valuable insight of when to fink on her elder siblings and when to keep quiet. If she breathed a word of what she guessed Ron and Hermione were up to, Molly would come down on all of them. She knew Hermione snuck to Ron's room at night, after everyone was asleep. She liked to think they weren't doing anything besides holding hands. Or maybe snogging a bit. It made her less nauseated that way.

* * *

Hermione pulled Ron's t-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. 'So… How far did you go with Lavender?'

'Is now the time?' Ron asked irritably.

Hermione sat back on her heels, pulling the open edges of her shirt closed. 'As good a time as any.'

'Fine. Then you're going to tell me about Krum.'

'Are you barking?' Hermione exclaimed. 'That was more three years ago!' she spluttered.

Ron stubbornly crossed his arms over his bare chest. 'I want to know. If I'm going to tell you about Lavender, then you have to tell me about Viktor.'

'Bloody hell.' Hermione threw Ron's shirt at him. 'Put that on. I can't talk to you like this.'

Ron yanked the t-shirt over his head and scowled at Hermione. 'Nothing happened,' he snapped. He looked at her suspiciously. 'Why? What did she say?'

'Nothing,' she replied. 'She complained you wouldn't do more than snog her, but what with the way you two acted in the common room, people thought you did more.'

'Believe me, Hermione, I never knew what color her knickers were.'

'Charming,' she spat.

'What do you want me to say? Did I want to shag her –'

'Well, did you?' Hermione interrupted.

'I'm not a saint,' Ron growled. 'I could have. Dozens of times. It wasn't like she didn't want to, but Mum and that damn sense of honor!' Ron kicked at the treehouse wall. 'I couldn't do it…' he admitted.

'I never kissed Viktor,' Hermione said softly. 'He wanted to, but I couldn't.'

'Really?' Ron looked up, his eyebrows rising into his fringe. 'But you… He… Why the hell not?' he blurted.

'It would have been like kissing Harry,' she informed him, with a quirk of her mouth.

'Ew.'

'Yeah.' Hermione gnawed a thumbnail. 'I'm getting worried.'

'About Harry?'

She nodded, running her hands through her hair. 'I don't know what to do about him.'

Ron shrugged. 'I don't either. I've never seen Harry this bad before.'

'Are there wizard versions of psychologists?'

'A what?' Ron looked down at her quizzically.

'It's like a Healer, but they work with the mind, rather than the body.'

'I dunno,' Ron sighed. 'What do they do?'

'Well, you go and talk to them.'

Ron burst into laughter. 'You'd have to get Harry to talk first.' He saw Hermione look at him disapprovingly. Sobering, he continued, 'Really, hen, he'd never talk to someone like that. And we both know it.'

'I'm running out of ideas.' Hermione rubbed her ragged thumbnail. 'He only comes out when nobody else is up and about. He's become nocturnal. I don't think he wants to bother with any of us.' She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

'I don't think it's that. Did you see him at Remus and Tonks' funeral? What he said to Mrs. Tonks? He's not going to forgive himself any time soon.'

'But it wasn't his fault…'

Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. 'I know that. You know that. Even  _ he _ knows that. It's just going to take…'

'Time,' Hermione finished.

'Yeah.'

'What if your mum and dad…?'

'How are they going to talk to him?' Ron ground out. 'He hardly leaves the room as it is…'

'I don't know…' It galled Hermione to not have an answer for something.

* * *

Katie elbowed her way through the ring of reporters at the front garden gate of the Burrow. One of them gave her a rude look and snidely asked, 'Don't you work at  _ Witch Weekly _ ?'

Katie scowled. 'And your point?' Most reporters felt  _ Witch Weekly _ was nothing more than a gossip rag, a few notches above  _ The Quibbler _ . She put a hand on the gate.

'Ye're no' goin' ta get in there, sweetheart,' one the male reporters called out. 'They hae'nt let us, now. I dinna see how a chit like ye's goin to get in.'

Katie pulled her wand out. 'I'm not here for the magazine,' she told him coldly. She tapped the gate with her wand, and when it began to glow with a dark red light, she laid her hand on it. The gate opened with a loud  _ click _ . She slipped through and shut the gate behind her. Her eyes widened when the clamor of people faded and the house swam into view. The Weasleys had effectively blocked out anyone they didn't want. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were arguing whether or not it was possible to send a gnome through the wards, oblivious to the commotion on the other side of the fence.

Ginny saw her approach the house. 'Katie! What are you doing here?'

'I owled your mum yesterday. Asked if I could come see George.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. 'He's not doing so good,' Ron offered. 'He pretty much stays in his room most of the time.'

Ginny nodded. 'Doesn't eat much, either. Does that thing where you move it around the plate.'

'I don't think he sleeps all that much,' Hermione piped up. At Ron and Ginny's questioning glances, she replied, 'What? You have to pass his room to get to the bathroom. The light's on at five in the morning…' Ron coughed and blushed. Five was when Hermione snuck back down to Ginny's room.

Katie gave Ron a strange look, but nodded, and went into the house. Molly and Arthur were in the sitting room, listening to the wireless. 'Hello, Mrs. Weasley.'

Molly and Arthur stood to greet Katie. 'Hello, dear,' Molly said warmly. 'George is upstairs.'

'Second floor,' Arthur supplied. 'The door on the left.'

'Thanks.' Katie gestured to the stairs. 'I'll just…'

'Go ahead, Katie,' Molly said.

Katie walked up the stairs and stood in front of the door for a moment, wondering if he would even bother to open the door.

George slid off the bed, and went to the wardrobe in the room. When Percy and Ginny had brought his things over from the shop, he had just crammed the bags into the wardrobe, not bothering to look in them. He opened the wardrobe door, and crouched down to pull out the bags. He sat on the floor, and pulled the zipper tab slowly. Reaching into the bag he pulled out the dragon hide jackets they had bought when the shop opened. They had been a belated eighteenth birthday gift to themselves. Fred had surprised him with them one morning, a month after they had opened the shop in Diagon Alley. George laid them aside and reached into the bag again.

His hand closed around soft wool. He pulled out a bright blue pile of woolen yarn and spread it out over his lap.  _ How old were we when she made these? Thirteen? Yeah, it was our third year, so thirteen, almost fourteen… _ George traced the G knitted on the front with a trembling forefinger. He reached into bag and pulled out the matching jumper. It had an F on the front in the same sunny yellow yarn.  _ We were so small… I don't remember either of us being so small…  _ George lifted the jumper to his nose and inhaled the scent of Fred that he fancied still lingered in the wool. The shop had been an idea, even as far back as then. Fred had wanted to be bigger than Zonko's. A lofty and seemingly unreachable goal to the thirteen year-old George. But Fred had been adamant.

George knew he ought to think about doing something with the shop. It had been shuttered since Easter when Arthur, Molly, Ginny, Fred, and he had gone into hiding at Auntie Muriel's. He couldn't see himself doing anything else with his life. Being a Ministry drone was not his idea of a good career. But he couldn't see himself doing the shop on his own. It had been Fred's idea from the beginning. From their first visit to Hogsmeade and Zonko's. In their dormitory that night, Fred had bounced excitedly on the foot of George's bed.  _ 'I know what we can do! We can have our own joke shop! With premises!'  _ George hadn't been so sure, but under Fred's relentless pressure and his own desire to do something different, George agreed, and by the end of their third year of school, they were researching products. It consumed them to the point where they all but ignored their studies, except the ones that would help them the most in the shop: Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology. They figured that anything they needed to know in Potions would have been covered by their fifth year.

The soft knock on the bedroom door didn't surprise him. Molly usually checked on him after dinner. To see if he was hungry or needed anything. George knew she was worried, but it irritated him that she wouldn't leave him alone. He hauled himself to his feet and yanked open the door, the jumpers dangling from one hand. 'I'm fine, Mum…' He gaped at the young woman standing on the landing. 'You're not Mum.'

Katie crossed her arms over her chest. 'No, I'm not.'

'Why are you here?'

'I came to see how you were doing,' Katie said.

'I'm fine,' George muttered defensively.

'You look like hell,' Katie said bluntly. George's eyebrows rose. Katie reminded him of a painting from that Muggle fairy tale book Arthur had given Ginny when she was seven. She looked like one of the fairies, slightly ethereal and almost delicate, but she could be as blunt as Ron when she wanted.

George shrugged and went to sit on the edge of the bed. 'Really, I'm fine.'

Katie snorted, and walked into the room, closing the door. 'You don't look fine. You've lost weight. I ran into Ginny, Ron, and Hermione on the way in. They said you haven't been eating or sleeping and that you've barely left the room.'

'So?' George laid the jumpers across his pillow.

Katie sat next to him on the bed. 'You're hiding.'

George picked up Herman, and began to worry the end of his tail. 'Does it matter?'

'Only if you intend to stay in here forever.' Katie scooted further back onto the bed, so she could lean against the wall.

'I don't know,' George admitted. 'I don't know what to do.' He shifted back to sit next to Katie. 'I don't think I should reopen the shop without Fred…'

Katie gave him a look that reminded George uncomfortably of his mother. It was like she could tell what he was thinking. He refrained from squirming under her gaze. 'Why?'

'It doesn't seem right.' George slouched against the wall. 'It was all his idea, and I don't feel like I can do it alone.'

'Who says you have to do it alone?' Katie touched the back of his hand. 'You told me that you and Fred thought about asking Ron to come in with you.'

George shrugged. 'I don't think he'd like it. Probably still wants to be an Auror.'

'You'll never know if you don't ask,' Katie said practically.

'I guess.' George looked down at the battered dragon in his hands. 'I really miss him.' He swallowed, trying not to cry.

'It's okay to miss him,' Katie murmured. 'It's not okay to shut yourself away from everyone.'

George nodded, blinking rapidly. He couldn't stop the tears that slid down his face. He pulled his knees into his chest and buried his face against them. He didn't feel Katie's arms slip around his shoulders. Dimly, he realized it wasn't the same kind of crying he had done immediately after the funeral. That had been raw grief and loss. This was the knowledge that Fred wasn't coming back and whatever identity George had before the battle had to change.

Katie worked one hand into her back pocket, and pulled her wand out, whispering a Silencing charm at the door. She rocked George slowly, one hand stroking his hair. He slid down until his head rested in her lap, and his arms wound around her waist. He slowly stopped crying, and took a few deep breaths. Just when he thought he had regained his composure, or what remained of it, tears began to slip from beneath his closed eyelids again. He shuddered and gave up trying to stop and let himself cry.

When he finally managed to stop weeping, George slowly sat up, wiping his face on the shoulder of his shirt. 'Stop that,' Katie chided. He shrugged apologetically, and patted his pocket, looking for the handkerchief he knew he didn't have. 'Here.' Katie held out a folded square of linen, with a dark blue K embroidered in the corner. 'I get loads of them from my gran. She thinks it's inappropriate for a young lady to be without one.'

George sheepishly took the handkerchief and swiped it over his raw cheeks and eyes. He looked around the room, noting how dark it had gotten. 'What time is it?' he asked mortified.

'Nine-thirty.'

'Blimey, I'm so sorry, Katie…'

'Hush, you. It's all right. If you can't get snot all over your friends, who can you do that to?'

George twisted the handkerchief in his hands. 'Thanks…' He fell over onto his pillow, closing his eyes painfully. His head was felt like pixies were using tiny pixie-sized hammers to pound his head. He felt Katie slide off the bed. 'Don't go,' he implored, cracking his eyes open.

'I won't. I'll be back in a minute.' She quietly left the room and George pressed his fingers into the ridge over his eyes. He thought his head was going to fall off his neck. He slowly exhaled, and rolled over on his back. He hadn't broken down in front of anyone since the funeral. Especially not his family. The solicitous concern smothered him sometimes. He knew they were worried, but the last thing he wanted was for them to feel like they had to follow him everywhere with a butterfly net.

Katie walked back into the bedroom, carrying a tray with tea, a small vial with a dark blue potion, and a wet face cloth. 'Drink this,' she ordered, holding out the vial. 'It'll help with your head.'

Without opening his eyes, George held out a hand for the vial. He tossed it to the back of his throat, making a face at the taste. 'Why does it have to taste like sweaty socks?'

Katie set the tray on top of the night table. 'How do you know what sweaty socks taste like?'

George's mouth curved slightly. 'Fred dared me to lick one of Charlie's. When we were eight.' He sat up carefully, minding his still-pounding, but more manageable, head. He paused, waiting for something, and when it didn't come, his eyes filled. 'We tried to get Ron to lick one of Bill's, but he was wise to us,' he choked thickly. 'It just feels weird. To talk about something we did, and know he won't start the next sentence. It was always spiffing to try and trip up Mum at dinner.' He started to smile, but stopped, guilt shadowing his features.

'It's okay to talk about it. And it's okay to laugh or smile when it's funny.'

George rubbed Katie's handkerchief under his nose and nodded. 'But we got Ginny to do it. She was still pretty gullible. She was only four.'

'Ugh.' Katie handed George one of the cups of tea. 'That ought to take the taste out of your mouth, then.'

George cradled the cup between his hands. 'Thanks.' He took a cautious sip. Katie held out the face cloth, and George traded the empty vial for it. 'I just feel so guilty…'

'Because you survived?' Katie guessed shrewdly.

'Yeah.' George gingerly ran the wet face cloth over his face, mindful of his stinging skin. 'I keep thinking that he's going to walk in the door, and tell us it was all a horrible mistake. I won't go downstairs for dinner, because when I sit down for a meal, I keep looking for him at the table. And we can't eat, because he's not there yet. But when Dad starts eating, I realize he's not going to show up.' He fell silent as Katie sat back on the bed, moving to make room for her.

'It's going to take time, George.'

'I know,' he acknowledged. 'But sometimes, I want to wake up tomorrow and be fine. Like I keep telling everyone else I am.' He leaned against Katie, talking like they had before he left school. He found himself talking about Fred with her, telling her things he thought he had forgotten. When he heard himself grow hoarse, George tilted Katie's wrist and gasped at the time. It was after one in the morning. 'Oh, shite…' he muttered. 'I'm sorry.'

'For what?'

'Keeping you up late like this.'

Katie snorted. 'Remember that night we went out with Fred and Angelina, and went up to your flat for coffee and while you and I were making coffee, they disappeared for  _ hours _ , and didn't come out until three?'

The corner of George's mouth curved up slightly. 'Yeah. You and I ended up drinking all the coffee, then eating an entire tin of chocolate mint biscuits. Then stayed up talking, buzzed on sugar and caffeine.' George slid off the bed. 'How'd you come in?'

'Front door.'

'Come on, I'll take you out back where you can Disapparate home away from all the commotion.'

George led Katie out the back door of the house and walked with her down to the end of the paddock. He helped her over the low stone wall, through the wards. 'Katie…'

She paused and looked at him over her shoulder. 'Yeah?'

'Thanks.'

'No problem.' Katie disappeared with a soft  _ pop _ , leaving George standing in the meadow. He turned around and slowly walked back into the house.

George slipped inside the kitchen, and began walking up the stairs.


	7. Swimming Upstream

George stood by the kitchen door and took a deep breath. Meals were still the worst time of the day. Even more than falling asleep and waking up, which George found highly ironic, because they had slept in the same room since birth. Molly had even told them they had to sleep in the same cot, because they cried when separated. He pushed the door open, and slid into a chair, across from Harry. George gazed at him curiously. Harry usually joined the family a few times a week for meals. Most of the time it was just dinner. And Harry stayed long enough to be polite, ate a few bites of whatever it was that Molly put on his plate, then with a near-inaudible whisper, excused himself. George knew he had to be eating something when everyone else was asleep. But whatever it was he ate, it wasn't enough.  _ He's always been a scrawny git, but this is getting out of hand… _

Ron clattered into the kitchen. He had come inside and run upstairs, looking like he had wrestled a troll, five minutes earlier. Hermione had followed him, looking rather disheveled herself. Ron dropped into a chair, running a hand through his damp hair. George squinted at him. A small purple mark graced Ron's collarbone, partially hidden by the collar of his shirt. George raised an eyebrow at Ron's attire. Ron normally only wore button-down shirts when he had to, and he was voluntarily wearing one now. George reached over and hooked a finger into the collar of Ron's shirt. 'What's that mark on you?' he asked.

'Nothing,' Ron muttered, jerking the shirt from George's grasp. Hermione sat next to Ron, her hair tamed into a plait, wearing a clean shirt. They carefully avoided looking at each other, but Ron leaned over and whispered something to her. Hermione peered at the skin under the shirt collar.

'I'll fix it after dinner,' she promised in a low voice. Ron looked relieved, and shot George a look.

'Fix what?' Molly asked, trying to look at Ron's collarbone.

'Nothing, Mum,' Ron said irritably, trying to avoid the inevitable barrage of questions from his mother.

'Ron ripped his shirt earlier,' Hermione lied smoothly, her cheeks turning pink. 'It was my fault. I tripped.'

Ginny, who had just taken a swallow of pumpkin juice, began to cough. She gave her friend a look. 'And your mouth landed on his neck?' she muttered. Ron and Hermione both gave her wide-eyed looks. But Molly hadn't heard the comment. Ron had left the top two buttons undone in a concession to the heat, but did up one more. He gave Ginny a rude hand gesture he masked, by running his hand through his hair. Ginny just rolled her eyes.

It was a relief for Ron when they were able to escape to the front garden after dinner. Hermione touched his skin with the tip of her wand and whispered, ' _ Episkey _ .' The mark faded in a few seconds. 'Sorry about that,' she murmured shyly. 'Guess I got carried away.' She lowered herself to the bench next to Ron, wincing slightly.

'Did I hurt you?' he asked anxiously.

'Not really. I mean I sort of expected it to…'

'Sorry…' Ron laced his hands together and tucked them between his knees. 'I didn't mean to. You probably think I'm a pig going after you like that.'

Hermione shoved his shoulder. 'There  _ were _ two of us involved, you know.'

'I suppose…'

'If I didn't want to…' Hermione blushed and made a vague gesture. 'You know…' She coughed. 'I wouldn't have.'

'Right…' Ron flushed so brightly, Hermione fancied she could feel the heat radiating from Ron's skin. 'You don't regret it, do you?' he asked apprehensively.

'No.'

Ron released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. 'You really never kissed Krum?'

'I thought we settled that…' Hermione nudged him.

'Well, everyone thought you had.'

'Everyone ought to mind their own business.' Hermione settled against Ron's side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 'Not that we didn't  _ try _ ,' she added. 'Every time we tried, I started giggling uncontrollably.' She reached out a hand toward the Flutterby bush next to the bench. 'Never got past the chaste peck.'

Ron stiffened. 'I thought you said you didn't –' He was cut off by Hermione's mouth landing on his.

'Never got to  _ that _ ,' she told him primly.

'Oh. Well, then…' Ron grinned and pulled Hermione into his lap. 'What time are you leaving tomorrow?'

'Late. Ten tomorrow night, I think. I'm going to meet Kingsley at the Ministry, for the first Portkey.'

'Can I come with you?'

Hermione hesitated. She stroked the hair that fell into Ron's face away from his eyes. 'No…' she breathed. 'It's not that I don't want you to come with me, it'll just be easier to leave.'

'Fine…' Ron heaved a disappointed sigh.

'Don't worry. I'll be back before you know it.'

* * *

Ron dove into the river with Ginny. Hermione had been gone a few days, and Ron missed her terribly. Even more than the weeks he had hidden at Bill's last year. 'What are you going to do?' Ginny asked when he came up for air.'

Spewing out a mouthful of water, Ron shrugged. 'I'm not sure. It's a nice offer and all… But I'm not sure I want to take it.'

'Why not?' Ginny lazily swam a few strokes past him. 'You wouldn't have to go back to school or anything.'

Ron put his feet on the river's bottom, wiggling his toes as minnows came to investigate the intrusion. 'I think I might want a break after the last year.' He let out a bark of ironic laughter. 'The last seven, if you really want to get technical.'

'You could always go in later,' suggested Ginny.

Ron shrugged again. 'I don't know.' Owls had come that morning for him and Harry. Letters from the Minister offering them both positions as full Aurors, without N.E.W.T.s no less. 'I don't really know what I want to do.'

Ginny didn't say anything. She didn't have the slightest clue what she wanted to do when she finished school. She envied George and Fred the shop, Charlie and his dragons, and Bill's work as a Charm breaker, which he often assured her sounded sexier than it really was. Percy had always wanted to work for the Ministry. And here were the youngest two Weasleys – adrift in more ways than one. 'Gwenog Jones was here last month,' she said idly. 'Said I should look into playing professionally…' She looked at Ron. 'Would it bother you?'

'If you played?' Ginny nodded in reply. Ron considered his baby sister. He liked playing at school, but even he had to admit the pressure got to him and couldn't imagine doing it every day. But Ginny had seemed to thrive on the challenge, especially in her fifth year when Harry had all those Saturday detentions, and she smoothly made the shift from Chaser to Seeker. He figured she would probably play a hell of a Keeper, as well. 'Nope. Not at all. Just as long as I can come see you play whenever I want.'

'Git.' Ginny splashed water at him. 'Like I could keep you away.' She floated in the water, gazing at the cloud formations above them. 'I miss Fred,' she said abruptly, her chin trembling.

Ron paddled to her, and grabbed her hand. 'I do, too.'

To Ginny's horror, she sniffled and tears mixed with river water ran down her face. 'It's not the same,' she choked. 'George doesn't laugh anymore. No pranks to plan…'

Ron said nothing. He had learned with Ginny when they were small to stay quiet and let her have it out. He pulled her out of the water, leading her to the old blanket spread across the river bank, and wrapped his arms around her. Ginny wept against his shoulder, breaking into noisy wails that threatened pull Ron under, too. He stroked her wet hair, and held her until her cries subsided.

* * *

Molly tapped her wand against the teakettle, and poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot. Arthur set the tin of ginger biscuits on the table and opened it. Molly Summoned two cups to the table and filled them with tea, adding milk to Arthur's and sugar to her own. She pushed Arthur's cup across the table to him, and accepted the handful of biscuits he offered with the ease of long familiarity. It was part of their routine. No matter how dark things got, they stole a few moments each night that belonged to just them, a practice begun when Percy was born. 'George looks better,' commented Arthur.

'Still doesn't eat much,' Molly countered.

'Neither do you,' Arthur pointed out.

'And you don't sleep.'

Arthur shrugged. 'I know.'

They both looked up at the ceiling as the sounds of screaming drifted from the floor above, despite the Silencing charms they knew Harry put on the room. Harry didn't always wake from his nightmares and more than once, he'd woken them all in the early hours of the morning as he wrestled his own private demons. He would never say what they were about. Arthur vaulted out of his chair and dashed upstairs.

Harry was thrashing wildly in the bed and rolled out of it just as Arthur shouldered Ginny aside and murmured a hasty  _ Aguamenti _ . The shock of the cold water seemed to be the only thing that would rouse him when he was this deep into a nightmare. Ron appeared silently next to Arthur and waited for his father to perform a Drying charm on his friend, while Molly set the bed to rights. Harry never actually regained consciousness during this time, but he seemed to settle into something more restful. Every time Ron helped Arthur put Harry back into the bed, he feared for Harry a little bit more. Harry was getting thinner and thinner as the weeks passed by. When Ron slid his arms under Harry to lift his torso off the floor, he could feel each rib under his fingers. Molly tucked the bedding around Harry, and tenderly smoothed the hair from his face. Ginny saw Molly bite her lip in distress at how much he had deteriorated. Ron left and went back upstairs to his room. Ginny stood on the landing, waiting until her parents disappeared back into the kitchen, before darting into her room and unearthing an Extendable Ear. She carefully played out the string to the gap under the kitchen door, and put the other end in her ear.

'I don't know what to do, Arthur,' Molly sniffed. 'I'm starting to think St. Mungo's might be our only option soon.'

'You don't think he's had some sort of spell damage, do you? From that Killing curse in the Forest?' Arthur asked uneasily.

'I don't know.' Ginny heard Molly take a sip of tea and set the cup down on the table. 'I'm afraid if we don't do something soon, we're going to lose him, too.' Her voice cracked. 'I can't lose another child,' she said in a strangled voice.

Ginny quickly yanked the Extendable Ear back up the stairs, and rolled it up. 'Right,' she murmured. 'Enough is enough.'

* * *

Ginny began to stalk Harry. For two days, Harry tried to ignore the silent girl that followed him nearly everywhere.  _ At least she hasn't followed me into the loo yet, but I wouldn't put it past her… _ he thought. She never said anything to him, just pinned him with at that look of hers. The one that said, 'I can wait for you to crack.' She never actually intruded into his personal space, but she hovered on the edge of his awareness. He knew she was there, sitting on the stairs, outside the bedroom, strolling nonchalantly behind him as he walked the length of the paddock. And just when he thought she was starting to come closer, she was gone. It unnerved Harry to no end.

By the third afternoon, Harry was worn out from trying to block her out. His mental defenses were eroded to nothing, else he would have lasted longer. He came to a stop in the back garden, and said in a low, rusty voice. 'What?'

Ginny said nothing.

'Damn it, Ginny! What?' Harry ground out whirling around to face her. She was two steps behind him.

'You're hurting Mum,' she said quietly.

Harry had the decency to look ashamed. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, then turned around, heading for the end of the paddock once more.

Ginny doggedly followed him. 'You're hurting the rest of us!' She saw his shoulders stiffen, but kept going. 'Who do you think wakes you from the nightmares? Who do you think puts you back to bed? You think it's magic? Sorry, chum, it's all of us! Damn it, Harry, we effing  _ care _ about you!'

Harry kept walking, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, eyes on the ground in front of him.

Ginny jogged to catch up to him, and began walking next to him. 'They stay up nights, talking about you,' she spat. 'Mum and Dad.'

Harry came to a dead stop, a few yards away from a stand of oak trees. 'What do you want from me, Ginny?' he asked.

'I want you to stop beating yourself up.'

Harry jerked angrily and took a few steps closer to the oak trees. 'You want things to go back they way they were before the war,' he ground out between clenched teeth.

Ginny reared back. 'How can they?' she countered softly. 'When they can't?'

Harry couldn't stand it any more. 'What do you want, Ginny?' he yelled.

In that instant, something crystallized for Ginny. She wanted an apology for all the worry he had put her through, for all the sleepless nights, for the anguish she'd felt when she saw Hagrid carry him from the Forest, seemingly dead. Because in that moment, all her hopes and dreams had died with him. 'You left me. For nearly a year. With nothing.'

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Even Ginny should have been able to realize the seriousness of the situation when he'd disappeared. 'For God's sake, Ginny, it wouldn't have been safe for you,' he entreated. When her mutinous expression didn't change, Harry tried logic. 'You were underage. And even if you had been able to come with us, you still had the Trace on you.'

Ginny gasped softly. 'So I was nothing more than a liability for you?'

Harry watched her eyes shutter. 'No! Of course not! But if anything had happened to you, I would have died…' He found himself standing inches away from her.

'That's just lovely,' Ginny commented sarcastically. 'That really helps after all those nights lying awake, wondering if you had died, trying to find a Potterwatch broadcast on the wireless. All those times the Carrows let the Slytherins practice the Cruciatus on us for detentions.' Ginny felt the simmering anger and resentment well up, and her hand flew through the air and landed with a loud  _ crack _ on Harry's face. 'That's for leaving me last summer!'

Harry felt his face erupt in flames. He kept his hands in his pockets. Before he could say anything else, Ginny's other hand sailed through his peripheral vision, and his head rocked to the side with the force of the blow. 'That's for not standing up for me in the Room of Requirement!' Faster than the second one had come, the third slap snapped through the still, hot afternoon. 'That's for making me think you were dead!' she shrieked. And just as quickly, a fourth.

Harry stood silently with his head bowed.

Ginny was panting, now that the rage had spent itself. She started shaking, as she realized she had left a collection of bright red handprints on Harry's wasted face.  _ Oh, God, what did I do…? _

When Ginny didn't say anything, Harry raised his head to meet her dismayed eyes. 'What was the last one for?' he asked hoarsely, distressed at the expression of dread on her face.

Ginny shook her head, tears streaming down her face. She turned around and ran for the river. Harry started to take a step after her, but spun around and stumbled to the tumbledown stone wall that marked the southern boundary of the paddock. Once there, Harry collapsed to the ground, facedown in the grass. Groaning, he turned on his back, his hands pressed to his face. His cheeks felt like they had been burned. He pulled his wand from his pocket, and shakily used a Severing charm to slice off part of the end of his shirt. He pointed the wand at the cloth, and without saying anything, doused it in cold water. Harry pressed the cold compress to his face, realizing with a slight shock, he had performed non-verbal magic. He let out a bitter laugh.  _ Snape was right, you really do have to mean it… _ He stayed in the paddock, huddled against the wall; until he was certain Molly had begun to serve dinner. Harry painfully pushed himself to his feet and went back to the house, going around to the front door, and slipping inside and up to Bill's bedroom before anyone could exhort him to join them at the table.

* * *

Ginny tripped and tumbled to the ground. She had never slapped someone like that before, least of all someone she loved. She couldn't stop the wrenching sobs that surged from the core of her being. The entire year at school, she had only cried once. And that was the first time the Carrows let Crabbe practice the Cruciatus. She refused to cry, because if she cried, it made her feel weak. And she couldn't let anyone see the fear she carried with her. Ginny hadn't meant to slap him like that, but she really didn't realize she'd slapped him until sound of the last one forced its way past the roaring of her ears. 'Oh, dear God…' she gasped. Her hands stung from the force of the blows. Ginny curled into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. She reluctantly returned to the house, more than half-afraid to see Harry. When she trudged into the kitchen, Molly looked at her intently, but mercifully said nothing. Ginny dropped into her chair at the table, and spent twenty minutes picking at her dinner, before asking if she could be excused. When she left the table, she fled to her room, and climbed into bed, pulling the bedding over her head.

* * *

Harry threw the blankets off and padded downstairs to the kitchen. His face still throbbed from earlier that afternoon. It was the first thing he had really felt, other than guilt, in weeks. He stretched his cheeks in a wide grimace. 'Ow.' He had examined his face in the bathroom earlier. Light bruises swept up his jutting cheekbones. Harry's hand tightened on the handle of his wand, ready to perform a quick Healing charm, but instead of pointing it at himself, he let the wand slide back into the pocket of his pajama bottoms.

Once in the kitchen, Harry stood in the middle of the room, unsure of why he was there. His stomach gurgled and Harry clapped a hand over his mouth, thinking he was going to throw up. The gurgling grew more insistent and he realized belatedly, that he was hungry. He drifted to a cupboard, and began to assemble a sandwich that he wolfed down in five bites. A jug of milk sat on the counter, under a Cooling charm, and Harry reached for a glass and filled it with milk.  _ Slow down; you're going to make yourself sick… _ He forced himself to sip the milk, and not gulp it down. Setting the glass down on the counter, he made himself another sandwich, and ate it slowly; mindful of the fact he hadn't eaten since…  _ When was the last time I ate a meal? _ He had been sneaking down to the kitchen at night after every one had gone to bed, and had forced himself to eat something that he could keep down, which inevitably ended up being yogurt or pudding. Fortunately, neither required much effort on his part to consume.

Harry cleaned up the mess he'd made and began the trek to the bathroom to brush his teeth again. After he rinsed his toothbrush, he heard someone thrashing around. It was coming from Ron's room. He stood indecisively on the landing, before Ginny's words pierced his brain.  _ Who do you think wakes you from the nightmares? _ He swiftly climbed the next two flights of stairs, and began to shake Ron awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this well before JKR revealed anything about their futures. Which is why I don't have Ron going into the Aurors.


	8. Playing for Keeps

Harry left Ron's room in a state of mild shock. Ron and Hermione. He couldn't get his mind past the idea that Ron and Hermione had  _ shagged _ . He shook his head a little and crept down the stairs down to the first floor and slipped into Bill's bedroom. He climbed into the bed and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what Ginny had said earlier. He knew his nightmares had been bad, but he hadn't been aware the rest of the family had been able to hear him.  _ I guess my Silencing charms weren't as good as I thought… _ He tried to stay awake as long as he could at night, to keep the nightmares at bay, but eventually he fell asleep, no matter how hard he tried not to fall asleep. Harry had a rather uneasy relationship with sleep, ever since his second year of school, and it had only gotten worse as he got older and his link with Voldemort grew stronger.

He hadn't realized it was near the end of July. He's been so busy trying to stay away from the rest of the family, wrapped in his own misery. His fingers glided over the bruises on his face.  _ Damn, that hurt. _ Ginny certainly hadn't pulled her punches, neither the physical ones nor the emotional ones. The first slap had jarred him; the subsequent three stripped him of the mental cotton wool he'd pulled around himself. But it was what she'd said that made him cringe. Waking the whole family with his nightmares, how he'd made Ginny feel like he'd betrayed her, Molly and Arthur staying up late, worrying. It was a wonder they still allowed him to live here, after all the trouble he had caused them over the years. He knew they had done it all without question, but he couldn't help but think that there might be a limit to even their generosity. The Dursleys' kindness hadn't lasted longer than it took to bring him inside the house the morning he'd been left on their doorstep.

And if there was anything Harry hated, it was to feel like a burden.

He rolled over on his side, and stared at a crack in the plaster of the wall until false dawn saturated the room with dull greys. His eyes drifted shut and he fell into a fitful slumber.

* * *

Ginny grabbed her dressing gown and ran up the stairs, hoping to get into the bathroom before anyone else did. She hated waiting on the landing for the bathroom to become available. Luckily, it was open, and she ran inside, and quickly showered and washed her hair, a skill acquired long ago when the house could have up to ten people and only the one bathroom. She hung the damp towel over a hook and wrapped her dressing gown around her body and went back into the room to dress for the day. Before she left, she ran a comb through her wet hair, and bound it into a ponytail. She heard the bed in Bill's room creak and fled down to the kitchen, still unwilling to face Harry after she'd hit him the day before. He probably didn't want to see her anyway.

She went into the kitchen and without being asked, pulled a stack of plates from the cupboard and began to set the table for breakfast. Ron was already awake, up to his elbows in flour. It still gave Ginny a jolt to see Ron  _ cooking _ rather than eating. She had to admit he was good at it. He slid the scones in the oven, and started scrubbing the flour off his hands. He muttered, 'Every bloody time.' Swiping his hands on a dishtowel, Ron dashed upstairs. Ginny giggled a little. She knew what he meant. Every time she washed the dishes after dinner, the running water made her need the loo, too.

Ron's head popped through the doorway. 'Gin, someone's in the bathroom, so take the scones out when the bell dings, all right?'

He disappeared before she could say anything. 'Oh, sure… I'll clean up here, too,' she grumbled. With a glance around the kitchen, she pulled out her wand and began to clear the flour from the table, and Banished the mixing bowl to the sink. 'Bloody men… Can't live with them, can't kill them.'

Molly emerged from the scullery, with a basket of neatly folded laundry. 'What was that, dear?'

'Nothing…' Ginny grabbed a dishcloth and scrubbed the table.

'Your brother's getting better at cooking, but he needs some work with the cleaning and washing up after himself.'

'No kidding.'

'Sit yourself down, then. Your father will be down soon, and we'll have breakfast.'

Ginny toyed with a spoon nervously. 'Mum? Can I tell you something?'

Molly turned at the sound of her daughter's voice. 'Of course you can…'

Ginny took in a deep breath. 'I slapped Harry yesterday afternoon.' She started to balance her cutlery across the rim of her teacup.

'Ah.'

Molly didn't say anything else, so Ginny continued. 'I didn't realize I'd done it until afterward.' She drew a shaking hand over her eyes. 'I've never been so angry before. It… Scared me,' she confessed. 'What if I do it again?'

Molly dropped into the chair next to Ginny. 'I don't think you will.'

'How do you know?' Ginny asked mulishly, angrily swiping at the tears on her face.

'You obviously didn't care for it,' Molly said dryly. 'And nobody's themselves right now.' She gently stroked Ginny's hair. 'We've all done things we're not proud of, especially the past couple of months.' She hugged Ginny, and brushed a kiss over her cheek. 'Don't worry too much about it.'

George slouched into the kitchen. 'We've become the weepiest bloody family in England. Maybe all of Britain. Fred would be outraged,' he pronounced, pouring a cup of tea for himself.

Ginny gaped at him. 'Yes, he would,' she agreed faintly. 'He'd do something silly like set off fireworks in the sitting room.'

The corner of George's mouth twitched. 'Or switch out everybody's wand with a trick one while they were in the loo,' he said pointedly. 'Where did Percy hide mine, by the way?'

'It's in my desk,' Ginny told him. I'll give it to you after breakfast.'

* * *

Harry pried his eyelids open and rolled over, shoving most of the bedding to the floor. He stumbled out of the bed and blearily grabbed a pair of clean boxers from the pile of clean laundry Molly had left in the room earlier. He hauled himself to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. He was exhausted, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, the echoes of his conversations with Ron and Ginny bouncing around his brain. He stood under the spray, hoping the hot water would prod him into wakefulness, or at least clear some of the cobwebs from his head. He opened the first bottle he could see, and worked the shampoo through this hair, realizing halfway through it was Ginny's. Shrugging, he worked the lather through his hair and rinsed it out. He reached for the facecloth draped over the side of the tub, as he picked up the bar of soap. He lathered the facecloth and washed with an attention to detail he hadn't had since the night he'd woken up after the battle.

It afforded him an opportunity to take a good look at himself. He had always been thin, but he was astonished to really notice how scrawny he had become. He could easily count his ribs, and was little more than skin and bones.  _ I look like Sirius when we found him in the Shrieking Shack. _ It was a startling revelation to him. And another signal he hadn't paid attention to anything around him in weeks. Sighing, he rinsed the facecloth and wrung it out, returning it to the edge of the tub.

As he pulled on the clean boxers, he wondered which course was best in the end – shutting himself away like he had been doing, or letting himself feel something, even if it did hurt almost unbearably. Standing in front of the mirror, he started shaving, taking the time to carefully shave the area under his jaw he always missed. Rinsing the razor, he gave himself a look, wiping the condensation off the mirror. 'Remind yourself to thank Ginny one day. It was about time someone smacked some sense into you.' He wiped his face on his towel and hung it up to dry.

He opened the bathroom door, and came to face Ron, shifting from foot to foot on the landing.

* * *

Going into the kitchen for breakfast required more courage than facing a room full of Death Eaters, Harry concluded. Everyone went silent and stared at him for a moment before they studiously went back to their meals. 'Sit down, dear,' Molly said tremulously, gesturing toward the table.

He would have probably fled back up to his room, had Ron not been behind him. The only available place at the table was the empty place next to Ginny. Ron prodded him in the back. 'That's what you get for dawdling,' Ron told him smugly, before going to sit in his place at the table. Harry gingerly slid into the seat next to Ginny after Molly set a plate on the table for him. She heaped his plate with food, and he mechanically plowed his way through it, not arguing when she added more.

Arthur left for work, leaving the rest of them still milling about the table. Ginny rose from her chair, and for reasons he didn't comprehend, Harry's hand shot out and closed around her wrist. He met her wide eyes, flicking his toward the back door and garden. She hesitated for a moment before nodding. He pushed his chair back and the two of them silently left the kitchen.

Ginny kept glancing sideways at him. She had felt her stomach twist when he appeared in the doorway, the faint bruises shadowing his face. Outside in the sunshine, they appeared much worse. He stopped at the base of a large oak tree. Ginny reached up and traced the bruise feathered across one cheek. 'I'm so sorry…' she whispered thickly. 'I shouldn't have… Slapped you,' she said softly, remorse etched over her features.

Harry took a deep breath. 'Maybe it was just what I needed. To get through the fog, I suppose.' He looked down at her and wrinkled his nose. 'Just don't do that again, all right? You have a very good right arm on you,' he added, a fleeting smile drifting over his face. One of his hands rose and his fingers laced through the strands of hair that rested over Ginny's shoulder, gliding through them. 'Gin? I'm sorry… About Fred.' His eyes closed for a moment. 'It was not something I wanted to happen. It was like losing my own brother.'

Ginny swallowed. 'Fred knew what he was getting into. We all did.' She shrugged. 'Doesn't make it hurt less, but it wasn't pointless, and Fred would kick your arse halfway to London if he knew you were wallowing,' she told him.

Harry's hand stilled and came to rest on her shoulder. 'Any death is pointless when it's like that,' he said flatly. He had come to the conclusion long ago that there was no such thing as a purposeful death.

'Maybe,' Ginny argued. 'But you can wallow in the grief and let it swallow you, or you can remember the person as they lived,' she said firmly. She looked up at Harry. 'And you can make damn sure they're never forgotten.'

Harry shrugged. They were getting into territory he'd rather not visit. He gestured to the treehouse ladder, unsure of what he was going to say once they got there, beyond trying to give Ginny an answer to her accusations from yesterday. 'After you.'

* * *

'Earn me back,' Ginny murmured against Harry's lips.

Harry stared at her dumbfounded. 'How do I do that…?'

'You could try trusting me,' Ginny said tartly. 'Believing what I tell you would be a good start, too.'

'Yeah…' Harry rubbed the back of his neck. 'Do you mind if we go somewhere else? I just can't shake the image of Ron and Hermione…' He flushed.

'Say no more,' Ginny interrupted. 'I can do without that image myself. I can't believe Ron actually…' She shuddered dramatically. 'I mean, I love him, but I'm surprised he managed to keep his foot out of his mouth long enough to kiss her.' She descended down the ladder.

'I'm more surprised he didn't say something that would make her turn him into a rat,' Harry retorted, following her down the ladder. 'So… Where should we go? We're sort of trapped here, unless you want a trail of reporters following us.' He glanced down at her. She had a questioning look on her face. 'I do read the paper. Bloody Rita Skeeter and her blathering on about where I've disappeared to. Nothing most of those leeches would like more than get the story,' he said bitterly.

'River,' Ginny suggested. 'It's where I like to go.'

Harry followed her to the grassy river bank, conjuring a blanket for them to sit on. He stretched out on it, basking in the warm sunshine. 'You look like hell,' Ginny commented conversationally.

Harry opened one eye, and found her face hovering over his. 'Thanks.' The eye closed. 'I know that. Why do people seem to want to comment on the obvious?'

'It's a talking point.'

'I haven't been sleeping well,' sighed Harry.

'Tell me something I don't know,' Ginny shot at him. 'None of us have.'

'Sorry,' he mumbled.

Ginny leaned back against the blanket. 'Can I ask you something?'

'You just did.'

'Git.' She nudged him a little.

'Go ahead.'

Ginny fiddled with the edge of the blanket. 'You don't dream about  _ him _ anymore, do you?'

Harry's eyes popped open. He turned his head to look at Ginny. 'No, I don't. They weren't really dreams anyway. I was there…' He reached over and touched the back of her hand. 'Why? Do you?'

'Sometimes,' she confessed. 'A lot last year.' She gnawed a hangnail thoughtfully. 'Usually when things got bad at school.' She gazed at him again. 'Can I ask you something else?'

'Sure.'

'Snape.'

Harry propped himself up on his elbows. 'That's not a question,' he pointed out to her.

'Why was his name said at the memorial?' Ginny asked bluntly.

'I asked McGonagall to add it,' he told her.

'Are you spell damaged?' she asked incredulously.

'He saved me. He was working with Dumbledore the entire time,' Harry said softly. He lay back on the blanket and curled into a ball. 'I was there when he died… He gave me his memories,' he rasped.

'Oh…' Ginny lay down, and pillowed her head on her arm. She wondered if he would fall asleep if she stayed quiet. In time Harry's breathing deepened and slowed. She reached out a hand and gently brushed the hair from his eyes. He badly needed a haircut.  _ Mum's going to start nagging about that, now he's decided to come out of the room… _ she thought with grim amusement, before sleep claimed her as well.

It was peaceful in the meadow, with the sound of the river flowing next to them. The tranquility was shattered when Harry flailed in his sleep and smacked Ginny in the face. 'Merlin's sagging…' Ginny groaned. She sat up and caught Harry's wrists in her hands. 'Harry, wake up!' She struggled to transfer one of his wrists to the other hand, then began to shake him. 'Wake up…'

Harry sat up with a gasp. His wide eyes took in the riverbank, Ginny's hands wrapped around his wrist, blood trickling from her nose. 'Shite,' he murmured, working a hand free from Ginny's grip, and using a thumb to wipe the blood away. 'Did I do that…?' She nodded. 'Doesn't look broken,' he offered.

'It's fine.' Ginny let go and used the tail of her shirt to stem the blood. 'Were you dreaming?'

'Yeah…'

'What... What were you dreaming about?' she asked tentatively, not entirely certain she wanted to hear the answer.

Harry's mouth worked like a fish for a moment. 'I dream about them,' he found himself telling Ginny. 'The ones who died. All of them,' he admitted.

'All of the ones from the battle?'

'No.' Harry looked up at the clouds drifting across the sky. ' _ All _ of them. All the ones  _ he _ killed or had killed.' His breath began to come in shallow pants. 'They surround me,' he gulped. 'And I can't get out. It's like they're smothering me.'

'Harry…' Ginny delicately touched the side of his face.

'No matter how many people tell me it wasn't my fault, the truth of the matter is it was,' he said harshly. 'I was the one he was looking for, and he wasn't going to stop until he had me.'

'Stop it!' Ginny commanded. 'You didn't ask for it. You didn't ask for any of it. You're just as much a victim of his greed and insanity as the rest of us.' She took a deep breath, and held his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. 'It wasn't your fault.'

'When are people going to stop telling me that?'

'When you start to believe it,' Ginny said simply.

* * *

Harry slept off and on most of the next afternoon in the back garden, Ron sitting next to him, writing in some journal, dragging his body into the house only when Molly called him and Ron for dinner. Harry slid into his place at the table, and tilted Ginny's chin to the side, so he could examine her nose. 'All right?' he asked shyly.

'It's fine. No worse than getting clouted in the face by an opposing team in Quidditch.'

Dinner was fairly uneventful, except for George asking Harry if he wanted to join him and Ron Monday morning to have a look at the shop and begin the process of rebuilding it. Harry glanced at Ginny sharply, but she just gave him a small nod of encouragement. 'Y-y-yeah… I'd like that,' he stammered, cramming a large spoonful of treacle tart into his mouth to cover his confusion.

He started to help Ginny with the dishes after the meal was finished, but Arthur took his elbow. 'Can we have a word with you?' he asked, looking so serious, that Harry's heart jumped into his throat.

Harry nodded, unwilling to trust his ability to speak at the moment. He let Arthur propel him into the sitting room, and stood awkwardly by the fireplace, timidly watching Molly and Arthur settle on the sofa and an armchair respectively. 'Have a seat, son,' Arthur told him, gesturing to the place next to Molly on the sofa. 'We need to talk with you.'

Harry's breath caught in his throat.  _ I've caused too much trouble _ , he thought, beginning to panic. 'Do you want me to leave?' he asked in a strangled voice, knotting his fingers together behind his back.

Molly's brow knit in consternation. 'Harry, why would we want you to leave?'

Harry shakily walked to an ottoman, and perched on the edge of it. Ginny's words from the previous afternoon began to ricochet through his brain. 'The nightmares, the reporters… I'm disrupting your lives…' he babbled.  _ Please don't make me leave _ , he pleaded silently.  _ I don't have anywhere else to go. _ He pushed himself off the ottoman and began to pace nervously in front of the fireplace.

'Harry, we don't want you to leave,' Arthur said firmly. 'You're welcome to stay as long as you like.'

Molly got to her feet, and stood in front of Harry. 'Harry, dear, please, sit down.' He stopped, and she put an arm around his shoulders and guided him to the sofa, making him sit between her and Arthur. 'We wanted to talk to you about Fred,' she said gently.

Harry inhaled shakily. 'All right…'

'Son, we don't hold you responsible for it. No matter how you might feel about the whole thing.' Arthur cupped the back of Harry's bent head, a gesture that nearly unraveled Harry's control over his emotions. Arthur's hand began to gently stroke his head, and Harry felt his eyes burn with unshed tears. 'The moment those two joined the Order officially, they knew what might happen. We all did. So did you.'

Molly's hand landed on Harry's knee. 'Everyone there knew they could die.'

'But they didn't have to,' Harry said hoarsely. 'Tonks didn't. She could have stayed home…'

'And she still chose to go,' Molly said. 'She took a calculated risk, just like you did.'

'I didn't mean for it to happen,' Harry choked. He bent forward, and buried his face in his arms.

Molly wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. 'I know, dear,' she crooned, brushing her lips over his temple.

Harry felt his body tremble and to his dismay he began to cry. It wasn't tidy, nor was it brief. Harry hadn't allowed himself to weep in years, and he found once he started, it was difficult to stop. He tried to bring his emotions back under control several times, but it was nearly impossible for him to slam the gates closed. Eventually, he gave up and did what he'd wanted to since the end of his fourth year – let himself imagine that Molly was his mother and cry on her shoulder, like he was a small child.

Molly rocked him to and fro, murmuring nonsense, rubbing his back. She looked up at Arthur, a concerned expression on her face. He was looking at Harry with an inscrutable look of his own. He met her gaze and they both knew each was thinking the same thing.

Harry had been sobbing in earnest for over half an hour, but he hadn't made a sound, other than the occasional rasping breath. Molly didn't like to speak ill of people, but she tried to imagine what kind of childhood Harry had that would make him learn to cry like this. All her children were noisy criers. Especially the boys. She bent her head closer and caught the edges of something he was saying, almost too low to hear. 'Please forgive me…'

* * *

When Molly, Arthur, and Harry left, Ginny began to wash the dishes from the dinner table. When she had dried, and put the last plate away, they still had not emerged from the sitting room. She started scrubbing the counters, then washed the floor, in an effort to do something that would take her attention away from the door. The eerie silence told her one of her parents had put a Silencing charm on the door, and she experimentally lobbed a butterbeer cork at the door, thinking she could put an Extendable Ear through the crack under the door. But it veered away from the door. Finally, when there was nothing left to do, she sat at the table, and glared at the door, willing them to come through it. Ron and George joined her eventually, after her parents and Harry had been ensconced in the sitting room for two hours. Arthur came in briefly for an analgesic potion for Harry, and a dishcloth for his face. When he returned to the sitting room, Ron bustled about making tea and set a cup in front of Ginny. 'Drink it,' he ordered. When she didn't protest, Ron took it as a sign of how distressed she was.

Another hour passed by, and Ginny's incessant worrying of her lower lip between her teeth caused a minor uproar when her lip began to bleed. George took her chin in his hand, and pulled his wand out. 'You're sure this is mine?' he asked warily. Ginny nodded stiffly. ' _ Episkey _ ,' he muttered.

'Blimey,' Ron breathed, looking at his watch. It was nearly ten. 'Come on, Gin, you ought to get to bed,' he urged.

Ginny stubbornly shook her head. 'No.'

Ron settled in the chair next to her with an air of resignation. George left the table and went to bed. Ginny eventually fell asleep, her head resting on her folded arms. At last, Molly came through the door, and stopped at the sight of her two youngest children, slumped at the table. 'Ginny,' she said softly, waking her. 'Ginny go on up to bed, dear.'

'Where's Harry…?' she mumbled.

'In the sitting room. I came to take him some hot chocolate.'

'Hot chocolate?' Ron asked. 'Really?'

'It's what he asked for,' Molly said absently, pouring milk into a cup, and adding chocolate to it, heating it with a tap of her wand.

'It helps…' Ginny said muzzily, a long-ago memory coming to the surface. 'Remus said so…' she added as she stumbled to the stairs.

'Here, Mum, I'll take it,' Ron piped up. When Molly looked at him askance, he promised, 'I won't ask about earlier.' She handed him the cup.

'Good night, then, Ron,' Molly said tiredly. She trudged up the stairs to the fourth floor.

Ron took the steaming cup into the sitting room. Harry was huddled in a corner of the sofa, looking decidedly worse for wear. 'Here, mate,' he said, holding out the cup.

Harry took it gratefully, and blew gently on the steaming liquid to cool it before he began to sip the hot chocolate. He glanced up at Ron, looking at him with a concerned expression. 'I'm all right,' he said, fatigue making his voice husky. 'Really…'

'Tell Ginny before you go to bed,' advised Ron. 'She was worried enough to bite through her lip.' Harry nodded and tried to stand up. Ron held out a hand. Harry looked at the proffered hand and clasped it, allowing Ron to haul him to his feet. 'You're on your own to get to bed,' Ron informed him. 'I'm not carrying you.'

A ghost of laughter came from Harry, as he made his way up the stairs. He stopped in front of Ginny's door and knocked softly. Ginny opened it, dressed for bed. Harry's forefinger traced her lower lip. 'You okay?'

'I should be asking you that.'

Harry lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. 'I've been worse.' He held out the cup. 'Want some?'

Ginny accepted the cup and turned back into her room, beckoning Harry in with a motion of her head. They sat next to each other on the bed, passing the cup back and forth until it was empty. Ginny set it on her desk. 'I'll take it down to the kitchen in the morning.'

Harry nodded, and before he could stop himself, he tilted her chin up, and brushed his mouth across hers. She tasted of chocolate and ginger biscuits. 'Good night, Gin,' he murmured.


	9. Testing the Waters

Harry settled into bed, the hot chocolate a soothing warmth in his stomach, gazing up at the ceiling. He was drained, but was more than a little frightened to fall asleep. Even the naps he'd taken yesterday and that afternoon were plagued by nightmares. He slowly inhaled and released the breath.  _ They're just dreams. It's not like before. They're not real… _ He rolled over to his side and let his eyes trace the crack in the plaster. It was starting to annoy him. Sitting up, he opened the drawer of the night table and pulled the moleskin pouch from it. Tucked inside was the picture of his father and him on Harry's first birthday. It was the one that Snape had ripped in half. Harry wondered, as he tacked it to the wall, if he would ever be able to find the half that had his mother in it. He doubted it. Harry supposed Snape's belongings had either been destroyed or disposed of in some fashion. He got up and rummaged through his knapsack, unearthing the photograph album Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year from underneath a welter of ragged jumpers.

Harry took the album back to bed with him, and lit the small lamp next to the bed. He paged through the book, the images of his parents waving at him. There were a few of Lily, heavily pregnant, looking slightly disgruntled, but smiling gamely for the camera. There were several taken after he'd been born, the awe clearly visible on his father's face and the exhilaration radiating from his mother's, as they held his tiny, squirming body. A photograph of Remus holding the infant Harry caught Harry's attention. Remus' hungry gaze struck Harry in particular. He remembered the evening Remus had come to Grimmauld Place last August, terrified of becoming a father, but in this photograph, Harry could see how badly Remus had wanted to become one. He felt an unmistakable tingle in his eyes, as he remembered how delighted Remus had been the night Teddy was born. Harry blinked and took several deep breaths. He'd done enough crying that night.

Harry lifted his head and gazed it in the direction of Ginny's room. He thought about the two of them, cradling their own child. Snorting, he shook his head. 'Getting a little ahead of yourself, Potter,' he murmured, glancing back down at the photographs. Sirius grinned up at him as he proudly cuddled baby Harry. Frowning, Harry tried to remember if there had ever been anything done for Sirius. He didn't think so, but he wasn't sure. At the time of Sirius' death, he had been considered a convicted criminal, guilty of the deaths of thirteen people, and his death had occurred under circumstances the Ministry didn't want made public. And officially, Sirius had been a fugitive and not even supposed to be anywhere near London. Harry looked at his godfather's smiling face. It didn't seem fair that Snape had been honored, but Sirius, who had lost his freedom, his life, and his best friends, was forgotten.  _ You make damn sure they're not forgotten _ , echoed Ginny's voice in his head.

Harry pushed the bedding away and searched through the desk in the bedroom, coming up with a small piece of parchment, a usable quill, and an old bottle of ink. Harry quickly scratched out a note and sealed it. He'd have to ask Ron if he could use Pig in the morning. Harry knew he was going to have to find a successor to Hedwig someday, but he couldn't make himself leave the Burrow to go to Diagon Alley and Eeylops yet. There were too many people to face, and the idea of crowds bothered him.

Climbing back into bed, Harry propped himself up against the headboard, and continued to page through the photo album until he fell asleep, the book open across his lap, his hand resting over a photograph of James and Lily dancing at their wedding.

* * *

After lunch, Ginny found Harry in the tool shed poking in a cupboard. 'What are you doing?' Ginny inquired from the door to the tool shed.

Harry jumped and smacked his head on the edge of the cabinet he was investigating. 'Ow!' He emerged, rubbing the smarting area of his head, checking his fingers for blood. 'Warn a bloke next time, would you?' he said crossly.

Ginny walked to where Harry knelt on the ground, nudging a tarp-wrapped bundle next to him with her toes. 'What's that?'

'Dunno yet.' Harry stood and stretched, arching his back a little.

'You've got dirt all over your face,' commented Ginny, crouching next to the bundle and pulling the edge of the tarp back.

'I'm washable,' Harry said with a shrug.

'Oh! It's Dad's old hammock,' exclaimed Ginny. 'Ron, Fred, George, and I used to fight over it so much, Mum made him take it down and pack it away.'

Harry hefted the bundle into his arms and took it out into the garden. 'Maybe we can put it up.' He let it drop to the grass at his feet. Shading his eyes against the glare of the late July sun, he scanned the back garden. 'What about there?' he suggested, pointing to the line of trees separating the paddock from the garden. 'In that gap?'

Ginny gave him a look, arching one eyebrow. 'It's awfully sneaky of you.' She started walking toward the trees.

'How so?' Harry picked up the unwieldy bundle. 'Ginny, how is that sneaky?' he called after her, lugging the hammock to the gap in the trees.

'Turn around,' she said.

'What?'

'And Kingsley offered you a job with no N.E.W.T.s…' Ginny grumbled. 'Look at the house.' She put her hands on Harry's shoulders and turned him toward the house. 'If someone's in the back garden, they can't really see you from here.' Molly's flower and vegetable gardens screened the area where they stood from prying eyes in the back garden.

'Oh.' Harry stooped and began to unwrap the tarp from around the bundle of heavy woven twine. 'Actually, I just thought it was shady here. That's why I thought it would be a good spot.' He gestured to the gap between two trees. 'Enough of a space to hang it, too.' He jabbed his wand at the folded hammock, and the ends knotted themselves around the tree trunks. Harry gingerly sat down in it, swinging gently. It seemed to be able to hold his rather negligible weight. He held out a hand to Ginny in invitation, and she joined him in the embrace of the hammock.

They swung silently for a several minutes, reveling in the cool breeze that drifted over them. 'So your birthday's Friday…' Ginny began.

'Yeah.' Harry shrugged uncertainly.

'What do you want?'

'For everyone to treat it as a normal day.' Harry closed his eyes. The photograph of Remus holding him floated into his head. 'Have you ever seen Teddy? In person?'

'A few times. I was there when he was born. I helped Mum and Mrs. Tonks deliver him,' Ginny said shyly. 'We went to visit a week later. Mum took some food over.'

'What's he like?' Harry asked hesitantly.

'He has her face. The shape of it. When he sleeps, his hair goes to its normal shade. It's the same color as Remus'. Maybe a bit darker, but when someone's holding him, his hair changes to theirs. When we went to see them after he was born, when Remus held him, his hair turned turquoise. He seemed so happy. Both of them, really. In all the years I'd known Remus, I'd never seen him smile so much.'

Harry drew in a shaky breath. 'Do you think he loved her?' he asked quietly.

Ginny felt a jolt of surprise. 'What?'

'Did he love her…?' Harry opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Ginny. 'A few days after Bill and Fleur's wedding, he came to Grimmauld Place and wanted to come with us. To leave Tonks, knowing she was pregnant. He thought Teddy would be like him.' Harry swallowed heavily. 'I've never seen him so scared before…' Harry suddenly sat up, making the hammock rock wildly. 'Teddy's not… A werewolf, is he…?'

'No,' Ginny said firmly. 'One of Tonks' friends from school is a Healer. She came over to test Teddy for lycanthropy. He'll be fine.'

Harry explosively blew out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. 'That's good…'

Ginny laced her fingers through Harry's. 'He loved her,' she told him.

'How could you tell?'

'At your birthday last summer, before Scrimgeour crashed the party?' Harry nodded, and Ginny continued. 'Even with all the worry, there was a moment, where he looked at her, and everything disappeared for him. Everything except her.' Ginny smiled tremulously. 'It's the same way Dad looks at Mum.'

Harry's throat closed and he felt tears gather in the corners of his eyes. 'Thank you…'

'Whatever for?' Ginny couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.

'For telling me that. Remus deserved to be happy.'

* * *

George pushed his plate away and looked at Ron and Harry. 'Are you ready to go?'

Ron gulped the last of his coffee. 'Yeah.'

'Ginny, you want to come?' George asked suddenly.

Ginny looked at Molly, who was clearing the table. 'May I go, Mum?'

Molly hesitated, then speared the boys with a fierce look. 'She stays with you at all times. She's not to go wandering off in Diagon Alley by herself.'

Ginny's face lit up, in spite of the restrictions. She was getting tired of banging around the house. 'Thank you, Mum!' She filed out of the kitchen with George, Ron, and Harry.

'And no underage magic!' Molly shouted after them, as they made their way down to the end of the paddock to Apparate, away from the diehard reporters still camped out in the lane.

Harry took Ginny's hand, and started to turn. 'Wait!' she said suddenly. 'You've never taken the Apparition test.'

Ron snorted, shoving Ginny lightly on the shoulder. 'What are they going to do? Expel him from school?'

'Kingsley gave us both our licenses last week,' Harry assured her, tightening his grasp on Ginny's hand, and turning.

They reappeared in front of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Harry glancing over his shoulder, but it was still somewhat early and the street was relatively empty. George stood in the street, looking up at the building, his breath coming in fast, shallow pants. 'George?' Ron asked worriedly. 'We don't have to do this today…'

'F-f-f-fred would want me to reopen in time for school,' George choked. Ron slung an arm over George's shoulders. George took a deep breath and shook himself rather like a dog. 'Let's go…' He laid his hand on the doorknob and twisted it slowly. George hesitated for a long moment before he stepped over the threshold. 'Damn them…' he breathed. Ron, Ginny, and Harry followed close behind, crowding the doorway. ' _ Damn _ them!' George ground out between clenched teeth. The edge of his remaining ear peeped through his shaggy hair. It was slowly turning red.

'Oh God…' Ginny whispered, peering around George's arm. The shop was in a shambles. Shelves had been tipped over and smashed to pieces. Boxes and packages of merchandise were ripped open and scattered across the floor. The Pygmy Puff cage was bent and mangled. 'George, we didn't know… Percy and I Apparated straight into the flat…' Ginny stammered.

George shook his head. He was biting his lower lip so hard; Ginny feared he would go straight through his flesh. 'We can fix it,' he muttered.

Ron sidled in and picked his way across the floor to the back room. The carnage was worse back there. His trainers crunched over a quantity of broken glass, and he looked down in shock. He knelt and gathered the torn pieces of a photograph of George and Fred into his hand. Ron began to breathe heavily, attempting to stifle the sobs that welled up. It was like burying Fred all over again. 'Ron?' Harry's husky voice broke through the harsh sound of Ron's breathing. Ron wordlessly held up the shards of the torn photograph. 'Oh…' Harry scraped an area of the floor clean and sank next to Ron. He tentatively put his arms around Ron. He wasn't quite sure how to go about the business of comforting someone, but this seemed like the thing to do. It was what Molly had done with him Saturday evening.

Ron began shaking, and he let the torn photograph fall to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and began to cry. Harry heard someone come into the back room, and Ginny knelt on the other side of Ron. Her arms wound around his waist, one hand gripping Harry's cold one. Neither of them heard George come into the back room.

George pointed his wand at the photograph. ' _ Reparo _ ,' he said softly, watching the torn edges fly into place and seamlessly fuse.

After a few minutes, Ron raised his tearstained face. He took the handkerchief Ginny offered him and mopped his cheeks. 'All right,' he muttered gruffly. 'Let's get this done.'

* * *

Harry paced the confines of Bill's room. He hadn't really slept alone since the age of eleven. It was an odd sensation. When he was at the Dursleys he'd had Hedwig for company. All the other times he'd been with the Weasleys, he'd shared Ron's room with him. They'd even shared a room at Grimmauld Place when it was the Order's headquarters. When they'd been on their pursuit for the Horcruxes, there was always at least one other person in the tent while he slept. At school, he'd slept to the sounds of Neville and Ron's snores, the sighs of Seamus, and the occasional mutterings of Dean.

The solitude was slightly unnerving.

Harry saw Ron come up the stairs and darted to the door. 'Hey, Ron? Can I talk to you for a mo?'

Ron's face bore a slightly bemused expression, but he agreed. 'Sure…'

Harry perched on the edge of the bed nervously. He wanted to move back into the attic with Ron. He hoped Ron wouldn't mind.

* * *

Harry made himself a cup of tea, and perched on the bench outside the back door to drink it. Ginny stumbled into the garden, wearing her unbound dressing gown over her nightdress. The nightdress was slightly translucent and Harry took a large swallow of his tea, willing himself not to look. 'Why are you up?' he asked.

'Bloody creaking stairs woke me up,' Ginny mumbled. 'What are you doing up so early?' she asked sleepily, pulling the edges of the dressing gown closed.

'I have to go check on something.' Harry offered her a sip of his tea.

'Where?'

'I'm going Godric's Hollow.'

'Can I come?' Ginny asked hopefully.

Harry looked at her, wanting to take her with him. He tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her plait behind her ear. 'Not today, Gin,' he told her regretfully. 'I have to go do this alone. Next time, I promise. I'll take you with me.'

'What are you going to doing?' she asked curiously.

Harry fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. 'I need to see my parents,' he confessed. 'I have to tell them something.'

'Oh.' Ginny leaned against Harry, her head dropping to his shoulder.

'And I need to see if something I've asked to have done is finished yet.'

'What?'

Harry pressed a kiss to Ginny's head. 'Sirius,' he said quietly. 'A grave marker. I asked to have one placed by Mum and Dad's.'

Ginny lifted her head from Harry's shoulder and brushed her fingers over his cheek. 'I think he'd like that.' She tried to smother the yawn, but it was wide enough to split her face.

Harry chuckled softly. 'I hope so.' He put a finger under her chin, and tilted her face up, kissing her gently. He reluctantly broke the kiss and stood, pulling Ginny to her feet. 'Go on back to bed. Get some more sleep. I'll be back in a bit. I won't be long…' He watched her walk back into the house and made his way down to what was now the family's Apparition point at the end of the paddock. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket, checking to make sure the letter he had written to his parents was inside.

* * *

'My turn,' Ginny said, scooping Teddy from Harry's arms. 'You've been keeping him to yourself all evening.'

Harry's arms felt strangely light without Teddy's weight in them. He leaned back in his chair, snagging the butterbeer from the table next to his half-empty plate. Ginny crooned nonsense to Teddy, while he listened to her with a wide-eyed expression on his face. Teddy's hair slowly changed from Harry's jet-black to the deep, autumnal auburn of Ginny's. Harry blinked at the picture in front of him. It could be Ginny with their child. He ran his hand through his hair.  _ Get a grip on yourself, Potter. You have no idea if she even wants to marry you… And you're both too young to think about that right now… _

Ginny looked up and smiled at Harry. 'What?'

'Beautiful,' he blurted. 'You're beautiful…'

'Oh…' Ginny felt a blush creep up her neck, staining her cheeks. She looked back down at Teddy. 'You ought to get your eyes examined,' she scoffed lightly.

Shacklebolt strolled over to their corner of the table. 'So, Harry… Have you given any thought to my offer?'

'Huh?' Harry tore his gaze away from Ginny and Teddy. 'Sorry, did you say something?'

Shacklebolt grinned slightly. 'My offer to you to become an Auror.'

Harry shifted slightly in his chair. 'How is that going to work?' he asked. 'With no N.E.W.T.s or the additional years of training?'

'Correct me if I'm wrong, but you've had something like seven years' on-the-job training, in situations we can't even begin to simulate at the Ministry.'

'That was just luck,' Harry objected. 'Being in the wrong place at the right time.'

'The D.A.?'

'That was just students wanting to pass their exams!' exclaimed Harry.

'But they followed you. You did such a brilliant job, that all the students who took O.W.L.s the next year that were in the D.A. received either an Outstanding or an Exceeds Expectations. As did most of the students that took O.W.L.s your year, too.'

'My Potions work is weak,' argued Harry.

'We can fix that. We'll set up some lessons.'

'Won't the others resent that I've skipped ahead so much?'

'Harry, this isn't special treatment. You've earned it.' Shacklebolt leaned forward. 'There isn't a person in the department that would begrudge you this.'

Harry sighed and weighed his options. Go back to school for his seventh year, or get started with his life. While the idea of going back to school had its appeal, Harry felt uneasy about it. There were too many memories there. And even though he would get to see Ginny every day, he knew the best thing for the two of them was if he learned to stand on his own two feet and not grow dependent on her. He could feel himself beginning to rely on her for his emotional equilibrium. It wasn't healthy, he knew. 'Are you sure it won't be a problem?' he asked again.

'None at all.'

Harry nodded. 'I won't start before September second, though.'

Shacklebolt nodded. 'Understood.'

Andromeda came over to them, and persuaded Ginny to relinquish her hold on Teddy. 'It's time for us to get home,' she said.

'Mrs. Tonks?' Harry asked suddenly. 'You said I could see Teddy any time I wanted…'

'Of course you can.'

'Could I have him on weekends?'

Andromeda shook her head. 'Not just yet,' she said.

'But why?' asked Harry in confusion. 'I won't be alone. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will be here…'

'I can't… Not yet…' Andromeda settled Teddy into the sling. 'It's not you, Harry. I'm not ready to let someone else have him…' She shrugged apologetically. 'He's all I have…' Andromeda took a steadying breath and looked at the dismayed expression on Harry's face. She glanced down at the baby, sleeping peacefully in the sling. Despite the yawning differences in their situations, Harry knew what it meant to not have family. It was why Remus had chosen him to be Teddy's godfather, in spite of Harry's relatively young age. 'Next Saturday afternoon,' she said softly. 'I'll bring him over after lunch.'

'Thank you…'

Andromeda nodded, picked up Teddy's bag, and walked to the gate.

Andromeda's departure seemed to serve as a signal for the others to leave as well. After Harry had said his goodbyes to the guests, he began to carry dishes back into the kitchen. Molly was already setting a stack of plates to wash. Harry set the plates on the counter. 'Mrs. Weasley… Thank you. For the par—dinner…'

Molly turned and gently embraced him. 'It was my pleasure, dear.' She pulled back a bit and took a small, flat box from her apron pocket. 'Arthur and I wanted to give you this.' She held it out to Harry.

Harry took the box, giving Molly a questioning look, as he opened the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of cotton wool, was a hand for the family's clock. His face smiled hesitantly on the end of the hand. Harry gulped noisily and carefully placed the box on the counter before pulling Molly into a tight embrace. 'Th-thank you, Mrs. Weasley…' he said in a tight voice.

Molly felt the tremor run through Harry's shoulders, and gently patted him on the back. 'Arthur and I have considered you family for ages. We've wanted to do this for years.'

Harry took a step back, patting the counter blindly for a dishtowel. 'I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. Weasley.'

Molly reached up and blotted Harry's wet face with the towel in her hand. 'Harry, dear, don't you think it's time you started calling me Molly?'


	10. Pattern of Days

Harry lay in bed, his eyes glued to the ceiling. Ron snored gently in the other bed, sleeping with an ease Harry envied. The morning after his birthday, Molly and Arthur had affixed his clock hand to the family's clock, and Harry's hand had immediately swung to "Home". He'd carried a warm glow the rest of the day, smiling a little when his glance fell on the clock, pushing the memories of Privet Drive back a little further each time.

He had dreamed about his parents that night. They were walking together ahead of him, hand-in-hand, and the faster he ran, the further ahead they were. He called after them, repeatedly, even resorting to using their given names, hoping that would rouse them to something, even anger that he'd called them Lily and James, rather than Mum and Dad. He had managed to wake up before he fell out of bed, but the bedding was so twisted from his flailing about, he had to work his way out of the mess to remake the bed.

It didn't seem as if he could win. One nightmare was replaced by another.

He stealthily reached back to the windowsill for the framed photograph of his parents. Would they have been so upset by the Weasleys doing more than just taking him in? Everything he knew about them pointed to no, but it niggled a little in the back of his head that they might have felt he didn't need them, now that it was all over.

He gave up trying to sleep and reached for the copy of  _ Transfiguration Today _ Shacklebolt had sent over with a stack of other journals, magazines, and books, instructing him to study and practice as much as he could. Rather than risk waking Ron, and lighting the lamp, Harry pulled his wand out from under his pillow, and thought,  _ Lumos _ . He trained the narrow beam of light on the fine print of the page and began to read about advances in transfiguring animate objects into inanimate objects without killing them. Harry could see how it might be useful to become a desk or rubbish bin when investigating someone, but the legal issues it raised were perplexing. Harry didn't have much faith in the Wizarding legal system as it was, and he didn't think they would be able to handle testimony gathered in a situation that had no legal precedent.

He worked his way through the article, pausing every so often, to check what the author said against what was in his textbook. A few times, he found something for which he didn't know the answer, and wondered why Shacklebolt was even doing something as daft as making him a full Auror. He thought he might write McGonagall and get a list of the seventh year textbooks. He put the magazine down on the floor, and picked up one of the books on potions. It was a small, succinct book that grouped potions ingredients by their use, accompanied by an illustration of the ingredient. It also cross-referenced them with another ingredient that could be substituted for it, and its antidote. Harry wondered why this wasn't on the book list for Potions. It would have helped him immeasurably in school. He finally fell asleep, the book open to a page about ingredients that were primarily used in potions to change the size of people and animals. When Ron woke up to go help Molly with breakfast, he saw Harry sprawled across the camp bed, his wand alit, the light illuminating Harry's feet, his glasses askew, and the book under his cheek.

Sighing, Ron reached down and gently removed Harry's glasses, setting them on the windowsill. He pried the book from under Harry's head and marked the page with a scrap of parchment, then slowly twisted the wand from Harry's grasp, whispering, ' _ Nox. _ ' He tucked the wand back into Harry's hand, the fingers wrapping instinctively around the handle.

Ron pulled his dressing gown on over his pajamas and stumbled down to the bathroom to wash and dress.

The days fell into a pattern for Harry, Ginny, Ron, and George. In the mornings, after breakfast, they headed to the shop, racing to have it ready to open the next Monday. The cosmetic damages had been easy enough to repair. After all, walls could be repainted, shelves and cabinets could be repaired, and merchandise could be restocked. It was going to take more than a few coats of paint to restore the energy George had had with Fred. Fred had always been the more restless of the two, and he often bounced off the walls in comparison to George. George quietly went about the business of teaching Ron and Harry to make some of the more popular products. According to the ledgers George had kept from their last year at school and the first year they had premises, the Skiving Snackboxes were one of the most popular items, so that was the first thing they made.

It didn't go well.

George unthinkingly tossed a slew of ingredients into a cauldron, and lit a fire underneath it. He perfunctorily stirred the mixture a few times and turned to the ledger once more, Summoning the things to make the Whiz-Bangs. The cauldron burbled uneasily, and George peered uncertainly into the bubbling mess. 'Damn it. I think I might have gotten the recipe wrong…' He absently began to walk up the stairs to the flat. 'I should have gotten that notebook before we got started.' Halfway up the stairs, George froze, his hand clutching the handrail. 'Maybe I ought to keep an eye on that cauldron,' he muttered, backing slowly down the stairs. 'Ron… Could you go upstairs and find it for me. It's got a blue cover.'

Ron set the cauldron he levitating to the table down and slipped up the stairs to the flat. He pulled his wand from his pocket and murmured, ' _ Accio _ notebook.' He wondered why George wouldn't even Summon the notebook from the back room. Taking a few moments, Ron began to wander about the flat. He hadn't really been up here before. It wasn't a particularly large flat – just a small kitchen, with an area for a table, a sitting room, bathroom, and a bedroom. Ron laid his hand on the door to the bedroom, and slowly pushed the door wider. Two beds sat against the wall, across the room from each other, each still neatly made with quilts Molly had made for them when they moved into the flat. Ron ran a fingertip over the surface of the windowsill, coming away with a dark smudge from the dust. It felt uncomfortably like a shrine to Ron.

'Ron?' George called up the stairs. 'Did you find it?'

'Yeah!' Ron shouted.

'Could you bring the ledger book, too?' George asked. 'It's on the desk in the sitting room.'

'Sure.' Ron felt a shiver ripple down his spine. He had wondered if George deliberately refused to move back to the flat, so he could keep it as a sort of mausoleum. He hefted the large ledger book off the desk, and wondered when Hermione was coming home. As much as he wanted to talk to Harry about George, something held him back. Harry was doing better in that he wasn't walling himself away from the rest of the family anymore, but Ron knew he still struggled with nightmares. And now it appeared he was trying to avoid sleeping. Ron had woken up again to find Harry asleep with his glasses on, and some book or magazine open on his chest, or tucked under his face, his tip of his wand lit up and clasped tightly in his hand.

He needed Hermione to provide the voice of reason he so sorely missed right now. She could help him figure out what to say to Harry to help with the nightmares. And she could tell him why George was able to reopen the shop, but unable to even go into the flat he'd shared with Fred, much less their old bedroom at the Burrow. It was starting to wear on Ron a little, keeping an eye on George during the day and one on Harry at night.

'Ron! We need that notebook now!' George yelled, seconds before an explosion rocked the back room.

Ron flew down the stairs, the notebook and ledger clutched to his chest, and found Harry, George, and Ginny covered in sticky purple sludge. George pulled the notebook from Ron's grasp and paged through it, leaving purple smudges on the pages. 'Damn…' he muttered. 'I  _ knew _ we were forgetting something.'

Harry sighed and pulled his wand out, and began to cast Scouring charms to clean the mess. 'What took so long?' he asked.

'Nothing,' Ron mumbled, setting the ledger book on the table, once the hardening layer of sludge had been cleaned off the surface, painfully aware that three months ago, he would have given Harry a look, and then two of them would have found something to do so they could talk.

'Don't worry about it, bro,' George said from the supply shelves, looking at Ron over his shoulder. 'It was my fault. I should have double-checked the recipes before we got started.' He set an armload of ingredients on the table. 'Really, it's not a big deal. I should have had the book down here. Memorizing the recipes isn't my specialty.'

'Are you still sure I should be doing this?' Ron asked, feeling slightly deflated.

George set the notebook to levitate at eye level, and began to measure ingredients into the now-clean cauldron. 'The first time I tried to make the Fever Fudge from memory, I put the ingredients in the cauldron in the wrong order, and it exploded in my face. Made me smell like rotten eggs for three days. Fred made me sleep on the sofa in the sitting room.' George Summoned another cauldron to the table, and lit a fire underneath it. 'Here, you make the orange end. All those cooking lessons with Mum should make it easy enough for you. Recipe's right there,' George said, indicating the page with the recipe written in his angular hand.

Ron bit his lip for a moment, studying the recipe for a moment before he turned to the supply shelf and picked out the ingredients. 'Here goes everything,' he muttered to himself.

* * *

In the evenings after dinner, Harry and Ginny would steal off to the hammock for a couple of hours of solitude. 'Hogwarts letter came today,' Ginny said, drowsily

'What are you taking this year?'

Ginny settled into the hammock a little more. 'Oh, the usual. Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Arithmancy, Astronomy, and Defense – although I'm not sure who's going to teach that.' She glanced at Harry shyly. 'I'm the Gryffindor Quidditch team Captain this year.'

'Gin, that's great!' Harry said sincerely.

'Mum said I could go to Diagon Alley tomorrow afternoon to get my things.' Ginny paused and looked up at Harry. 'Maybe you could come with us?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'I don't know, Gin…' he said nervously. 'Maybe if I used…' His hand drifted down to his pocket where his Invisibility Cloak was hidden.

'No.' Ginny sat up, and folded her arms across her chest crossly. 'You can't keep hiding,' she told him.

'I'm not hiding,' Harry protested.

'Oh?' Ginny said archly. 'Then what do you call what you've been doing?'

'Keeping a low profile,' Harry retorted.

'Hiding,' Ginny corrected. She climbed out of the hammock and looked down at Harry. 'Either you come with me without the Invisibility Cloak, or don't bother coming at all.' She strode back to the house. 'Git,' she muttered angrily.

* * *

Harry sat huddled on his bed, the heavy book about offensive charms and hexes open on his crossed legs. Ginny was right, he was hiding. He had barely left the house or the immediate environs of the Burrow in over three months. He glanced up as Ron walked into the room, his journal tucked under his arm. 'Ron? Am I hiding?'

'Truthfully?' Ron slid the journal into a drawer of his night table.

'No, I want you to lie to me,' Harry retorted sarcastically.

'Yes. You're hiding.' Ron found a pair of pajamas and changed into them. 'At some point you're going to have to face the rest of the world again. Before you go to work.' Ron dropped to his bed, and pulled his knees up into his chest. 'Look, mate, I understand it hasn't been easy for you, and that you just want to be left alone, but that's not going to happen, and staying holed up in here isn't going to make the attention go away.' Ron paused, the image of George standing frozen on the stairs flashed through his head. 'Like George. Have you ever noticed that if he needs something from the flat upstairs, he sends one of us?' Ron began to play with a loose thread of his dark blue pajamas.

'Yeah…' George had sent Harry up to the flat to find the stash of Venomous Tentacula seeds he and Fred had hidden before the war broke out.

'He's doing the same thing you are. Hiding from the fact Fred's gone. No matter how much he wants it to go away, not going into that flat or his bedroom here isn't going to change it.' Ron snapped the loose thread. 'The same thing with you. You can hide in here all you want, but it's not going to change anything.'

'That's not fair,' Harry objected, slamming the heavy book closed. 'Do you think it's easy for George to be at the shop?'

'Of course not,' Ron snapped. 'That's not the point…'

'It is the point,' insisted Harry. 'You can't expect him to just pick up where he left off and pretend like everything's okay, because it's not!'

'And hiding from everybody is supposed to make it better?' Ron snarled, his ears growing red. 'I'm not bright like Hermione, or have that instinct that you do, but even I can see that all the two of you are doing is punishing yourselves for surviving!' Ron swiped a hand across his face; unaware angry tears had tracked their way down his face. 'Do you think we'd all be better off if you were gone? Either of you?'

'No… I…' Harry stammered.

'You survived,' Ron said flatly. 'And Fred is dead. Closing yourself off from the outside world is not going to bring him back, no matter how much you want it to be true.'

'It's not just Fred,' Harry mumbled to his feet. 'It's everybody.'

'You're not responsible,' Ron said. 'You're not God. You couldn't have predicted any of it. Or stopped it, even if you wanted to.' Ron yanked his bedding back and crawled under the sheet. He curled up on his side, facing the wall, away from Harry. 'I miss Fred, too,' he said softly. 'I hate that Teddy won't know how bloody brilliant his father was and how great his mother was.'

'What's going on up here?' Arthur stood in the doorway.

Harry looked up open-mouthed. 'N-n-n-n-nothing,' he stuttered. He quickly opened his book, and turned a few pages until he came to the section on destroying barricades.

'It didn't sound like nothing,' Arthur said calmly.

'It's nothing, Dad,' Ron said, pulling the sheet over his shoulder.

'Right.' Arthur sighed and started to close the door, but stopped. 'He's right, Harry. Hiding isn't going to bring Fred back, nor is it going to make it easier to deal with. Living isn't something to feel guilty for.' With that, he closed the door softly, leaving Ron and Harry alone once more.

It was quiet for a long while. Ron stared at the wall until his eyes burned. After an hour, Harry turned out the lamp, and began to use his wand to read. It was after midnight when Ron's soft snores drifted across the room.

Harry kept his head bent to his book, reading until his head ached and he drooped from exhaustion. When he finally shut the book and pulled his glasses off, he watched the shadows playing on the ceiling until he fell asleep as well, his dreams hazy and distorted.

* * *

Harry sat on the edge of his bed and tied the laces of his trainers. He found his moleskin pouch, and after folding his Invisibility Cloak into an impossibly small square, tucked it inside. He felt strangely naked without it in his pocket. He blew out a deep breath, as he put the pouch back inside a drawer in the bureau where he kept his scant belongings. It wasn't solely to make Ginny happy. After he'd put his book away last night, he lay awake for hours, thinking about what Ron had said. He kept the cloak on him mostly as a connection to his father, but increasingly over the past couple of years, he had come to rely on it as a means to isolate himself, when he wasn't actually using it to hide for his own safety. Harry gently pushed the drawer closed and walked down the stairs.

He joined Ginny at the table and reached for the pot of tea to pour himself a cup. 'I need to get a few things this afternoon,' he said tightly. 'Some books for work.' Ginny's eyes flicked to the side, and she hooked a finger in Harry's jeans pocket, pulling it open slightly. It was empty. She glanced at him questioningly and he hitched a shoulder. 'I thought I could go with you.'

* * *

Ginny pulled her book list from her pocket, as they approached Flourish and Blotts. 'The only things I really need are the Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense books,' she said, consulting the list. 'What did you want to get?'

'The N.E.W.T. level Potions book, and the seventh year Charms, Defense, and Transfiguration books.'

'Whatever for?'

Harry yawned a little. It was after three before he went to sleep, and he was awake before eight. 'You know all those books and magazines Kingsley sent over? They talk about all the things I missed last year, so I need them for reference.'

Ginny turned to look at him, taking his chin in her hand, tilting his face down. 'You don't look very good,' she commented.

'Didn't sleep much,' Harry admitted. 'Been studying at night.'

'We can go back home after we're done here,' Ginny suggested. 'Have a kip.'

'That would be nice,' Harry said. 'What else do you need?'

'Ummm. My Potions kit is in horrible shape. I need to just start all over again. I need some new robes, too.'

'Okay.' Harry was aware of the whispers that erupted in their wake, but he tried to ignore them. Most people left them alone, but while they waited in the queue at Flourish and Blott's to pay for their books, a few people came up to Harry and patted him on the back and shook his hand, thanking him profusely. Harry flushed with embarrassment, and murmured something to each person that spoke to him. Ginny could tell it was making Harry uncomfortable, but he managed to smile fleetingly at each person that approached them. He paid for his books and waited for Ginny to purchase her things, before they trudged down to the apothecary to refill Ginny's potions kit, then stopped in Madame Malkin's for Ginny's robes.

Laden with packages, Harry Apparated them back to the Burrow, and they dropped their things off inside the house before they met at the hammock. Harry pulled his glasses off and put them in his shirt pocket, then sank into the webbing, allowing himself to relax, knowing they were safely ensconced away from the unwanted, but necessary, attention. He didn't think he would ever grow accustomed to the accolades he felt he hadn't truly earned. Ginny eased into it, and rested her head on Harry's shoulder. 'Thank you for going with me,' she said softly, knowing how much it had cost him to accept the praise for an event he'd sooner forget ever happened, and how difficult it had been to take the time to talk to the line of people that had formed the second they had walked into the book shop.

'No worries,' Harry mumbled.

Ginny reached up and stroked his hair, smoothing it away from his face. 'You're not just studying at night,' she stated, her fingertips tracing the shadows under his eyes.

'No, really, I am. I have a year of school to catch up on, and three years of training to try and stuff into my head before next month.'

'Even Hermione couldn't do that,' Ginny scoffed.

'It's not quite required that I do this, but I just don't want to embarrass myself.' He sighed and rubbed his eyes. 'I don't think even I can live up to my own reputation.'

'You could have come back to school,' Ginny pointed out, logically.

'No.' Harry shook his head, and snuggled into Ginny. 'It's not a good idea.'

'Why not? You could get the year of school you missed and not throw yourself into the Ministry meat grinder so soon.'

'No,' Harry repeated. 'I need to move on.' Ginny suddenly went cold. 'Move on?' She sat up. 'What do you mean move on?'

'Harry's eyes opened and he squinted at Ginny's blurry outline. 'Not from you, Gin. From all the "Boy-Who-Lived" and "Chosen One" nonsense.'

'And not going back to school will make every one forget that?'

'Probably not, but there's too many memories at school for me. And at the Ministry, I'll just be another Auror.'

'Yeah, you keep thinking that,' Ginny snorted.

'Okay, that's not going to happen, but…' Harry shrugged. 'It's worth a shot, at least. I can try to go about my day in relative anonymity.' He closed his eyes again. 'I just can't go back.'

'You're not the only one with bad memories there,' Ginny said sharply. 'I have the same memories of losing Fred that you have.'

'It's not just Fred,' Harry sighed. 'It's tainted…' he mumbled, trying to explain, but feeling as if he were failing miserably.

'Tainted?'

'Hogwarts was my first home. My first real home. Right up until the end, even with everything that happened there, it was still my home. But if I go back, then what I'll remember is the battle, and the next few days, but what I want to remember is the first time I was on a broom, and finding out for a brief moment I could possibly leave the Dursleys, kissing you for the first time…' Harry shivered. 'I can't go back…'

'But I'd be there,' Ginny ventured.

'That's the problem,' Harry said. 'You'd be there and I can't keep depending on you like that.'

'But that's what I'm here for,' Ginny huffed. 'You're supposed to be able to depend on me.'

'It's like the cloak,' Harry tried to explain. 'I can't use you like I've used the cloak.'

'I don't understand…'

Harry shifted. 'I don't want to become dependent on you. I don't want to run crying to you if I get a splinter in my hand. Or the emotional equivalent of that.'

'Then why am I here now?' Ginny asked, in a tone that made Harry sit up.

'I'm totally making a cock-up of this, aren't I?' Harry said, massaging the back of his neck.

'Yes, you are.' Ginny slid out of the hammock.

'Ginny, wait…' Harry grabbed Ginny's wrist. 'I need you. But I need to learn to live, too, and I'll never learn if you're chasing after me with a butterfly net.'

'I wouldn't do that,' Ginny said mulishly.

Harry regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. 'I don't just study at night to make up for lost time,' he told her. 'I stay awake, studying, as late as I can, to keep from falling asleep.' He smiled deprecatingly. 'See, if I don't sleep, I don't have nightmares. Or if I stay awake later, I have fewer nightmares,' he said.

Ginny stared at him. 'You're not taking care of yourself –'

'Ginny.' Harry pulled her back to the hammock. 'If I went back to school like this, would you be able to focus on your studies?'

'Probably not,' she admitted reluctantly. 'I'd worry about you.'

'You shouldn't have to.' Harry settled her back against him. 'You're not my mum. You're my…'

'What?'

'Girlfriend…?' Harry glanced at Ginny. 'If you want to be…'

Ginny reached back and patted Harry's thigh. 'I'll think about it…'


	11. Finding Common Ground

' _ You shouldn't have to.' Harry settled her back against him. 'You're not my mum. You're my…' _

' _ What?' _

' _ Girlfriend…?' Harry glanced at Ginny. 'If you want to be…' _

_ Ginny reached back and patted Harry's thigh. 'I'll think about it…' _

* * *

'I guess I deserve that,' Harry sighed.

'What?'

'Waiting.'

Ginny carefully shifted in the hammock, so she faced Harry. 'It's not that I don't trust you or anything…' She bit her lip as Harry visibly flinched. 'I do trust you,' she said. 'It sort of depends on you.'

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. 'How does it depend on me…?'

'You're going to be an Auror for real,' Ginny stated. 'And even though  _ he's _ gone, there will always be people who were dropped on their heads as babies, or should have been hugged more as small children, or are just downright psychopaths. If we're together, and someone has it in for you, I'm still a target, just like before,' Ginny explained. 'So, my question to you is: can you manage to do both – have me and do your job?'

Harry felt his pulse begin to race uncomfortably in his ears. 'I don't know,' he admitted slowly. 'I've never really had a this sort of relationship where  _ he's _ not hanging over my head. Not with anyone. It's sort of unexplored territory. I don't really know how to act.'

'That's why I'm going to think about it,' Ginny said. 'I can't put myself through that again.'

Harry stiffened slightly. 'Yeah, I get it.'

Ginny took his chin in one hand and forced him to look at her. 'Don't be a prat about this and think that I don't love you,' she told him forcefully. 'I can't go into this with you again, and have that thought niggling in the back of my head that something will come up, and you're going to let me go, because it's for the best.'

Harry nodded stiffly, biting his lip against the stinging in his eyes. 'Yeah…' he whispered hoarsely. He climbed out of the hammock. 'I'll see you at dinner,' he said with forced casualness, before heading for the end of the paddock.

Ginny sighed and threw her arm over her eyes, shielding it from the sunshine that snaked its way through the leaves overhead. She knew when Harry got into a mood, it was best to leave him be for a bit. He wouldn't listen to anyone right now.

* * *

Ron poked his head into Ginny's room. 'Hey, Mum says dinner's ready.' Ginny nodded, closed her book, and threw it on her desk.

'What's got you in such a strop?' Ron asked.

'I told Harry that I wanted to wait a bit before getting back into a relationship with him,' Ginny said, pulling a brush through her hair with unnecessary force, yanking out several hairs, making Ron grimace in pain. 'He got upset,' she finished succinctly.

Ron refrained from heaving a sigh and slipped into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. 'What did you say?'

Ginny pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. 'I said that I didn't want to risk starting it up, then having to stop it again, because he thinks things might get dangerous,' she huffed.

'Right,' Ron said quietly. 'You could have said that differently.'

Ginny slammed her brush down on the desk and spun to Ron. 'Since when did you become the relationship expert?'

'Never said I was. But I've known Harry longer than you,' Ron told her. He pulled out the chair from her desk and straddled it, resting his arms across the back. 'He probably thinks you don't want him.'

'But that's not true,' Ginny objected.

'I know, Gin. But Harry's never believed people actually  want _him_. And then you say something like that…' Ron shrugged. 'Just feeds his insecurities about people.'

'That's not what I meant,' Ginny groaned in exasperation.

'Yeah, I know. But that's what he thinks.' Ron stood up and pushed the chair back under the desk.

'Well, what am I supposed to do?' snapped Ginny.

'I don't know,' Ron admitted. 'Usually, Hermione's the one who could get through to him.' Ron opened the door and looked down at Ginny. 'Don't sell yourself short, though, Gin. You've been able get through to him when nobody else could. Remember that Christmas when Dad was in the hospital?'

'I wish I could forget it.'

'Out of all of us, you were the only one who got him to stop hiding in that room. I know you love him, but Harry's got a really twisted sense of logic when it comes to people. Magic, he's pretty good at it. Relationships, not so much.'

'Nobody ever said it would be this complicated,' Ginny sighed, trailing down the stairs after Ron.

'Yeah, well, you're dealing with Harry. He's not like normal blokes.'

'This was so much easier with Michael or Dean.'

Ron snorted. 'That's because you didn't care about them.'

Ginny grabbed Ron's wrist before he went into the kitchen. 'Since when do you know so much about people? Normally you have the sensitivity of a plank of wood.'

'People do grow up you know,' Ron said, rolling his eyes.

'And what makes you think I didn't care about Michael or Dean?'

'I just meant that you didn't love them. When you ended things with them, you didn't seem too fussed about it.'

'I was, too!' Ginny protested.

'No, you weren't,' Ron scoffed. 'Why were you with them, anyway?'

'None of your damn business,' she retorted.

Ron scowled down at his sister. 'You didn't… You know… Did you?' he asked, slowly turning bright red as he did so.

'No,' Ginny huffed in an offended tone. 'What do you think I am?' she asked impatiently. 'Don't answer that.'

Ron worked his wrist free from Ginny's grasp and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 'Look, I hate to sound like one of those bloody smut novels you think you hide from Mum, but if it's meant to be with Harry…' Ron shrugged with one shoulder. 'Don't give up on him, okay? He really does love you.' Ginny nodded and went into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind her. Ron looked up to the landing on the first floor. 'How long have you been standing there?' he asked.

Harry came down the stairs, looking more than a bit groggy. 'Long enough,' he mumbled, running a hand through his disordered hair.

Ron regarded Harry thoughtfully as he walked down the stairs. 'You know she wouldn't get so mad at you if she didn't care.'

Harry squinted at Ron, still wrapped in a haze from his nap. 'That's a comforting thought,' he yawned.

* * *

Harry crept down the stairs, holding his breath as he passed by Molly and Arthur's bedroom on the fourth floor. He'd waited for Ron to fall asleep, then slipped from the camp bed, and tiptoed down the stairs. He winced as the stairs screeched discordantly under his bare feet. 'Bloody hell,' he mouthed. Ginny had told him during that brief, but happy time, they were together at school, that Molly and Arthur had charmed the stairs to creak when Bill was about fourteen or fifteen. He knocked softly on Ginny's bedroom door, seeing the band of light in the crack under the door. He knew she was still awake. She opened the door, a book with a lurid cover dangling from one hand. 'Can we talk for a bit?' he asked, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. Ginny took a step back and opened the door wider. Harry took a few steps inside the room. He'd only been in Ginny's room twice before – his birthday last year and the night a couple of weeks ago he'd talked to Molly and Arthur. It was a strange sensation, to say the least. Ginny closed the door and returned to her position on her bed, tucking her feet under her. Harry glanced around and realized there were only two places to sit, besides the floor: the chair at her desk, or the bed next to her. Flushing, he pulled the desk chair out and plopped into it, rubbing his hands nervously over his flannel covered thighs.

Ginny idly fanned the pages of her book, the papery whispers loud in the silent room, rubbing the embossed cover under her fingertips. After several minutes ticked by, she glanced at Harry. 'Is there something you wanted?' she asked softly.

Harry jumped at the sound of Ginny's voice. 'Uh, yeah…' He pulled his feet into the seat of the chair and began to worry the hem of his pajama bottoms between his thumb and forefinger. 'I was thinking about what you said earlier.' He looked at Ginny, hoping for some sort of signal from her, but her face remained smoothly neutral. 'Right, well, I mean, you're going back to school in a few weeks, and we won't be able to see each other, except for Hogsmeade weekends, Quidditch games, or holidays.'

Ginny set her book down and frowned. 'What are you going on about?'

'Maybe we can just see where things go…' Harry twisted a finger in the hem of his pajamas. 'I don't know how to do this,' he confessed, talking to his toes. 'I'm willing to try,' he said in a low voice. 'Balancing you and the job.' He stood up and pushed the chair back into its place. 'G'night.'

* * *

Andromeda set a carrycot on the kitchen table and swung a bag filled with clean nappies, bottles, and a few spare outfits next to it. 'Are you sure you're ready for this?' she asked Harry, who held Teddy with a slight look of fear on his face.

'Absolutely,' Harry said with more confidence than he felt.

George watched Harry jiggle the baby nervously. 'They can smell fear, you know.' A corner of his mouth turned up as Harry turned a shade paler.

Andromeda looked at Harry apprehensively. 'Maybe I should stay here for a while longer,' she suggested.

'We'll be fine,' Molly said reassuringly. She took Andromeda's elbow and began to walk to the door. 'Let me walk you down to the Apparition point.' She looked over her shoulder at Ginny and gave the unsuspecting Harry a significant glance. Ginny nodded and moved a little closer to Harry and Teddy. Molly and Andromeda strolled down the length of the paddock. 'It'll be all right, Andromeda. I'll be here the entire time.'

'I could use the afternoon to get a few things done,' Andromeda confessed, with an almost guilty tone to her voice. 'You forget how exhausting it all is. It's been a long time since I've had to take care of a baby.'

'You know you can call us any time if you need someone to take Teddy for a few hours. Harry will be thrilled to spend some time with him.'

Andromeda cast a doubtful glance back at the house. 'He looked like he's about to pass out,' she commented.

Molly snorted. 'All men are like that when they have to take care of a baby the first time. The first time I left Bill alone with Arthur, when I got home, Arthur was in tears.'

A fleeting smile drifted over Andromeda's face. 'Ted was afraid he would pat Nymphadora too hard when he burped her. The first time, he barely touched her back.' Andromeda released a shaky breath. 'I'll be back about five, then.'

'You'll stay for dinner,' Molly stated. Andromeda nodded, and touched Molly's arm, then Disapparated.

Molly slowly walked back to the house, thinking they ought to invite Andromeda over more often. In all the confusion and upheaval after the battle and funerals, she had forgotten that Andromeda was probably terribly lonely. Andromeda had lost more than a son. Nearly her entire family had been wiped out, save for her grandson.

She opened the kitchen door, Teddy's whimpers reaching her ears. 'You're going to need to change his nappy,' Ginny told Harry.

'I'm sorry. What?' Harry asked, perplexed.

Ginny grabbed the bag from the table and led Harry into the sitting room. She spread a blanket over the sofa and took Teddy from Harry's arms. She lay Teddy on the blanket and began to undo his bodysuit. Ginny looked up at the gobsmacked expression on Harry's face. 'Right,' she said. 'I'll walk you through it. It's easy.' She tugged on Harry's hand until he knelt on the floor in front of Teddy, whose wide grey eyes regarded Harry and Ginny solemnly. 'Okay, before you unpin the nappy, you want to put a clean one over Teddy.

Harry dutifully unpinned the nappy, and reached into the bag for a clean one. He turned his gaze to Ginny, the clean nappy dangling from his hand. 'Why?' he asked, just as a stream of urine sprayed over his face.

Ginny fizzed with laughter at the shocked look of horror that slowly spread over Harry's features. 'That's why.'

'Ugh.' Harry used the clean nappy in his hand to wipe his dripping face. He looked suspiciously at Teddy who gurgled at him, windmilling his fists. 'You did that on purpose,' he told his godson. Harry dropped the damp cloth to the floor. He pulled another one from the bag and draped it over Teddy's bare bottom half. 'Now what?'

'Grab his ankles in one hand, and lift his bottom up, then slide the wet nappy from under him,' Ginny instructed. Harry gingerly slid the wet wad of material away from Teddy and dropped on top of the other nappy with a moue of distaste. 'Now put a clean one on him. And not the one you've got over him. He can still get you.' Harry took a deep breath, and approached his task with a look no less fearful than he'd worn going to Potions class. 'Lift his bottom up again, and put the clean nappy under him. Good. Pull the end up between his legs, take the one over him off, and pin it.' Harry eyed the large pins and poking his tongue between his teeth, carefully pinned the nappy's edges together, trying not to accidentally stick Teddy, sure if he did, Andromeda would never leave him with Harry again.

The nappy pinned into place, Harry lifted Teddy from the blanket, grinning in absurd pride over his first nappy change, watching as the nappy slowly slid down Teddy's chubby legs, to land in a heap on the blanket. 'What did I do wrong? I did everything you said to do.' Sighing he laid Teddy back down on the blanket, and began the laborious process all over again.

'You need to make sure you've pinned it properly, so it doesn't fall off like that,' Ginny said, smothering a grin.

Harry pulled the sides of the nappy firmly across Teddy's belly, once more, carefully pinning them into place. 'How do you know this? Are girls just born with some sort of instruction manual in their hands?' he said in an aggrieved tone. 'It's like you already have all the bloody answers!'

'Not really,' Ginny said, as she snapped the bodysuit closed. 'I've just done this before.'

'I'm going to be rubbish at this,' Harry moaned.

'Harry, it's one nappy. It takes practice. Like everything else.'

'I suppose.' He gestured to the pile of soiled cloth. 'What do we do with those?'

'Scouring charm works.'

Harry pointed his wand at the wet nappies and muttered, ' _ Scourgify _ .'

Ginny smirked and scooped up the nappies. 'Get used to doing that.'

* * *

Harry flopped into bed with a muffled groan. He didn't think spending an afternoon with a four-month old baby would be so exhausting.

He was wrong.

He didn't see how Andromeda managed by herself. He'd barely survived with the combined efforts of Ginny, Molly, and Ron. It tore at Harry a little, every time he looked at Teddy, to see Remus' eyes looking back at him. It made him realize what people who had known his mother must have felt every time they looked at him. For the first time, Harry allowed himself to feel a small measure of pity for Snape. He could only imagine what it felt like for Snape to see his mother's eyes looking at him with such contempt every day.

'All right, mate?' Ron asked sympathetically.

'No.' Harry curled on his side and pulled his glasses off. 'That was the most grueling day I've had in ages.'

'It wasn't that bad.' Ron pulled his trainers off and dropped them on the floor.

'I suppose not,' Harry replied. 'But I didn't think he'd go through that many nappies in one afternoon.'

'You got really good at it.'

Harry rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept well last night. 'You would too, if you'd had to change that many,' he muttered. 'Every bloody bottle just went right through him…' His voice trailed off as he fell asleep.

Ron pried Harry's glasses from his hand and placed them on the windowsill. He pulled the quilt from his bed and spread it over Harry. It hadn't just been the physical exertion that wore him out. Teddy was a living, breathing reminder of Remus, and Ron could see how difficult it had been. Ron knew Harry well enough to recognize the signs of emotional distress – the strain around his eyes, the smile that seemed a little too forced to be genuine, the slight underlying tension in his voice.

Ron thought it had to get better. It had to. He began to hope there would be the day when they all realized it was okay for them to be happy about something.

'Ron?' George craned his head around the door of Ron's bedroom. 'You busy?'

'No.' Ron shook his head.

'He going to be all right?' George gestured to Harry with a jerk of his chin.

'Yeah. Long day.'

'Right.' George slipped into the room, and sat on the edge of Ron's bed. 'Hey, listen, Ginny's birthday next week, I thought you and I could go in together and get her a good broom.'

'That's a good idea. But there's a problem.'

George looked stricken for a moment. 'What?'

'I don't exactly have any money right now,' Ron stated.

'Of course you do,' George said softly, so as not to wake Harry.

'Where? I haven't seen it.'

'You're in with me on the shop,' George said, as if that explained everything.

Ron shook his head. He got up from the bed and grabbed George's hand, dragging him down the stairs to Percy's old room. 'No, I'm not. I work for you. I expect to be treated like any other employee.'

George looked at Ron with a flash of hurt in his eyes. 'But I thought you wanted to go in as a full partner?'

Ron felt the blood drain from his face. 'I can't,' he said harshly. 'Not yet…' He plucked at his t-shirt. 'I want to earn it, all right? On my own merits.'

George nodded. 'Okay. I'll sit down tomorrow and figure out what I owe you for the last two weeks.' He had to force the words past the lump in his throat. He hated being confronted with the fact that Fred was truly not coming back. Every day something else reminded him Fred was gone. When Ron started working in the shop, he could pretend for a moment Fred was working with him again. 'I'll also put it in writing and we'll both sign it. Actually, we'll need to have Harry sign it, too. He owns about twenty percent of the shop.'

'That's fine,' Ron said, opening the door to go back up to his room.

George cleared his throat. 'Ron?'

'Yeah?'

'Cleansweep's got a new broom out. I checked it out in  _ Which Broomstick _ . It's not too dear, and it ought to work all right for her for school. She ought to have a good broom, being Quidditch captain this year and all.'

'They have it at Quality Quidditch Supplies?'

George nodded. 'Yeah. I have one on hold. We can get it Monday morning. You know Mum's going to have a big party for Gin that night.'

Ron slapped George's shoulder. 'It's a brilliant idea, George. She'll love it.'

George watched Ron leave the room, closing the door softly behind him.


	12. To Talk of Many Things

Harry woke up in a daze, sitting up suddenly, trying to figure out where he was. The light in the room was unnaturally bright and he was alone. He reached under his pillow for his wand, and Summoned his glasses, perching them on the tip of his nose so he could see the alarm clock, ticking softly on top of the bureau in the corner.

It was nearly ten.

He shoved the bedding back and rolled out of bed. He collected some clothing and stumbled hazily down to the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would clear the cobwebs from his head. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night like that.  _ That night – or was it two? – after the battle don't count. There wasn't anything I could have done but sleep… _ he thought, as he flicked the hot water tap on with his fingertips. He ducked into the tub, and stood under the spray for several minutes before he began to wash himself.

It was such an odd sensation to have slept through the night, without feeling his scar burn, tingle, ache, or any of the other myriad sensations that radiated from that inch-long bit of skin. He rubbed his fingertips over the ridge bisecting his forehead. It seemed smaller, less prominent lately. As if it were finally healing. Harry lathered shampoo through his hair and began to consider that maybe it  _ was _ healing. His thoughts seemed to echo about in his head, since he was alone now. He hadn't been truly alone in his thoughts in...  _ It's been at least since my fourth year… _ Harry held up a foamy hand and counted off the time on his dripping fingers.  _ Four years. _ Shaking his head, Harry rinsed the lather from his hair.

He haphazardly dried his hair and body with a towel and pulled his jeans and t-shirt on, taking a moment to brush his teeth. Barefoot, his hair still damp, Harry padded down to the ground floor. The Weasleys were lounging with the Sunday  _ Prophet _ , passing sections amongst them, lingering over cups of tea. Molly looked up from a recent issue of  _ Witch Weekly _ . 'Harry, dear, are you hungry? You quite slept through breakfast.'

'I'm all right,' Harry said, folding himself to the floor next to the sofa.

'Let me get you some toast, at least,' Molly said, jabbing her wand in the direction of the kitchen. In moments, a plate of toast zoomed toward Harry and settled on the coffee table at his elbow. Molly then Summoned a cup and poured Harry a cup of tea.

Harry gratefully began to sip the tea, his eyes closing in bliss. Not having the small things, like tea, on a regular basis last year, made him feel exceedingly grateful to have it now. He cradled the cup in his hands, inhaling the fragrant steam. 'You all right, mate?' Ron asked.

'Yeah.'

Ron leaned closer to Harry. 'What did you get Gin for her birthday?' he whispered.

Harry's eyes flew open. 'Wait, when is it?'

'Tomorrow. The eleventh.'

'Bloody, buggering hell,' Harry sighed into his bent knees. 'It slipped my mind…'

'You can go in with George and me,' Ron said matter-of-factly.

'Thanks, Ron, but I should get her something on my own.'

'Any ideas?'

Harry started to shake his head, but then Pig began to twitter madly as a small barn owl flew through the open window. 'Yeah, I think I have one that might work…'

Arthur took the letter from the owl and offered it a crust from one of the uneaten pieces of toast in front of Harry. 'It's from Charlie,' he said, opening the envelope. Scanning it quickly, he added, 'Says he'll be here tomorrow for Ginny's birthday dinner.'

'Marvelous,' Molly said happily. 'That's everyone, then.' She sighed and smiled mistily at her daughter. 'It's not every day your youngest comes of age…' Molly's face took on a stern expression. 'You will finish school, young lady,' she said to Ginny. 'No leaving early, no matter what. Even if Godric Gryffindor himself does a hula dance in a grass skirt and coconut bra on the staff table of the Great Hall, then tells you to go chase ghosts in Madagascar or something equally daft like that.'

Ginny didn't say anything, but nodded in assent. As of right now, Quidditch was the only thing she really wanted to do, and one didn't need N.E.W.T.s to play professionally. She knew her playing days would be limited and she didn't want to be the feminine version of Ludo Bagman, who'd been hit too many times with a Bludger to find his way inside out of the rain. Besides, only Bill and Percy had actually finished school. Charlie had left early, at the end of his sixth year to work on the Romanian dragon reserve. Fred and George had famously skived off school forever mere weeks before exams. And Ron didn't even do any part of his seventh year, and he hadn't wanted to go back and complete his seventh year. Molly didn't say anything, but she considered it a great source of shame that four of her children had not finished school.

'Mum, that's brilliant!' George said, sitting up. 'Can you see it, Ron? Little dolls of the four Hogwarts' founders doing barmy things like hula dances in absurd costumes…'

'What's next?' Ginny snorted. 'Russian stacking dolls of past Hogwarts' Headmasters?'

'That's not a bad idea…' Ron mused. 'They can have holiday themes…'

'I was just kidding,' Ginny protested.

'I'm not,' muttered Ron, grabbing a Self-Inking Quill and sketching something on the edge of the section of paper he was reading. 'Remember Neville's boggart?'

'Dumbledore in surf shorts and a boogie board?' George suggested. 'It can play music…'

'That's just tacky,' Ginny murmured.

'One man's tacky, is another man's brilliant gag gift,' George intoned. 'You think you're getting a lovely collectable item and instead you get Snape in a ratty green dress with a vulture-adorned red hat.'

'So glad I'm not part of it,' Ginny sighed.

'Snape would go spare,' Ron said. 'We'll have to give one to Neville.'

'Is the shop ready to open tomorrow?' Molly interjected, hoping to change the subject.

'More or less,' George replied, turning a page of the paper. 'It's going to be a long process to get things back where they were.'

'But we should be able to handle the basics for the crowd going back to school,' Ron added.

'And we're closing at five on the dot, Mum, so we'll be home in plenty of time for Gin's birthday.' George traded his section of the paper with the one Arthur had. 'Wouldn't dream of missing it.'

'We're not eating until seven,' Molly said. 'Give Bill, Charlie, and Percy time to get here from work.'

'Gee, Mum, what do we do?' George muttered. 'Play in a sand pit all day?'

Harry tugged on the end of Ron's jeans. 'Heard from Hermione again?'

Ron shook his head. 'Not since she got there.' He leaned forward a bit, under the pretense of pouring another cup of tea for himself. 'I have a bad feeling about this,' he confessed softly, so only Harry could hear. 'It shouldn't have taken this long…'

'We'd have heard if something went wrong,' Harry suggested.

'I suppose.' Ron sighed and began to read the Quidditch scores. The war had disrupted the Quidditch season, and now that it had ended, teams quickly resumed their games in an attempt to return to normalcy. 

Sundays tended to be leisurely at the Burrow. The wireless played softly in the background, lunch was an unhurried affair with just Molly, Arthur, George, Ron, Harry, and Ginny at the table that afternoon. Like the cup of tea that morning, the stillness struck Harry. It wasn't the tense silences that marked the weeks and months of the last year, but rather the calm that descended after a storm. It was yet another thing Harry had to accustom himself to. He was slowly starting to lose that hollow-eyed look he'd worn since the beginning of May, regaining some of the weight he'd lost. He could still count his ribs, just by looking in the mirror, but they weren't quite so prominent anymore. He couldn't help but gain weight. Molly kept piling his plate with second and third helpings, as soon as his fork scraped against the plate. He helped Arthur wash the dishes and meandered out to the hammock.

Ginny was already stretched out in it, swaying gently to and fro under the rippling shadows of the leaves overhead. Feeling oddly as if he were intruding, Harry started to back away, but not before Ginny's eyes fluttered open. She held out a hand in wordless invitation, and Harry hesitated for a moment before he took her hand and settled in the webbed twine next to her. 'You really need a haircut,' Ginny commented, brushing the wayward dark strands away from her face. Harry merely grunted in response. 'I'm surprised Mum hasn't Stunned you yet and all but shaved your head.'

Harry ran a hand through his hair, making if flop messily into his eyes. 'That makes two of us,' he muttered.

'You slept an awfully long time last night,' Ginny said. 'We tried to wake you up for breakfast, but you just pulled the quilt over your head and rolled over.'

'It's been a while…' Harry conceded. He grinned crookedly at Ginny. 'I guess I needed the sleep…'

'Yeah, and Teddy ran circles around you.'

'Amazing, considering he can't even crawl yet,' Harry retorted dryly.

'He's gifted,' Ginny said pertly.

'Yeah…' He rubbed his forehead fretfully.

Ginny noticed his movement and the small line that appeared between his eyebrows. 'What?'

Harry's fingertips pressed against the scar harder. 'It's numb,' he complained.

Ginny's eyebrow rose slowly. 'And this is a bad thing?'

Harry grimaced. 'It's just since I was eleven, it's done  _ something _ .'

'Didn't you think it was going to change?' Ginny asked.

'Beyond finding a way to get rid of Riddle,' Harry began, shaking his head slightly. 'I wasn't thinking too much of what would happen after that. I wasn't always sure I'd survive…' Harry found himself telling Ginny. 'Up until the very end, I thought I might not be alive when it was all over.'

'Shhhh.'

Harry continued, unheeding of Ginny's efforts to quiet him. 'I died…' he whispered. 'I died.' He stared into the leafy canopy overhead. For the first time, he understood he had actually died, but had a means to return, and not merely cheated death. 'I saw Dumbledore.' He slowly exhaled. 'I saw part of Riddle's soul. It was dying…' Harry's hand drifted up to his forehead again, fingers tracing a path over the jagged line of his scar. 'I had a choice,' he said abruptly. 'I could have stayed. It was quiet and peaceful there. Nothing ached or hurt.'

Ginny was silent for a long time. 'What made you come back?' she asked, barely above a whisper.

'I had to,' Harry murmured painfully. 'I didn't want to; it was so peaceful there. But people were counting on me. I wasn't finished yet. Just because I'd managed to destroy nearly all of his soul, it didn't mean  _ he _ was gone.' He closed his eyes against the late summer sun. 'It had to be me. It had to end with me…'

'Harry, shhhhh.' Ginny tried to shush him, afraid the nightmares would come roaring back.

'There was too much I couldn't leave unfinished…'

* * *

George paced nervously in front of the door. It was five minutes to nine the next morning. There was already a line of people outside the door. 'Right,' he told Ron, Harry, and Ginny, clustered behind him. 'We'll take lunch in shifts. Ginny, you're the best with maths, so you're in charge of payments. Ron, Harry, you two and I will handle the floor and restocking as needed. Ready?' Without waiting for them to reply, George laid a hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. 'Okay, Fred…' he mouthed. 'This is it…'

He flung the door open, and a stream of students surged inside the door, many of whom were repeat customers from the previous years. They greeted George, Ron, and Ginny with shouts of glee. For Harry, they were slightly more reverential, wending their way through the warren of shelves and stacks of tricks and jokes to shake his hand, or pat him on the back, and introduce him to their parents. Harry felt his pulse begin to race and his hands trembled, but in time, the students' attentions turned to the merchandise, intent on carrying back a measure of hilarity to Hogwarts', much to Harry's relief.

They worked steadily through the morning and before Harry knew it, it was time for him to take his allotted break for lunch. He slipped into the back room, and picked up a sandwich from the basket on the table and slipped out the back door to pick up Ginny's birthday gift.

As he walked down the street, he could feel the eyes of the people around him, zooming with unerring accuracy on his face. It reminded him uncomfortably of the first time he came to Diagon Alley. He supposed that he might have preferred it then, that first visit seven years ago. He'd been able to more or less hide behind Hagrid, and at the time, he could still operate in relative anonymity. Now, he could feel the laser-like stares of people, as he passed by, zeroing in on him. He felt like he was trying to breathe underwater, nearly gasping as he walked faster down the street. The back of his neck began to burn as more people's gazes turned toward him. He flung himself into the dark shop, leaning against the closed door, grateful that it was nearly deserted just now.

Harry scanned the walls carefully, looking for something that would suit Ginny. He didn't have much time, since George expected him to be back on the floor soon. Harry made his selection and paid for it, slipping back down the street and into the back door of the shop. He stole up the stairs, stowing his gift for Ginny in the flat. He jabbed his wand at it, with a touch of regret. 'Can't have you making noise,' he whispered regretfully. 'She'll hear you, and I really want it to be a surprise… I promise, I'll take the charm off later.' Harry closed the door to the flat and ran back into the shop.

'You're late!' George chided.

'Sorry!' Harry called over the noise. 'I had to go do something.' He turned to the tiny first-year student at his elbow to help him select a Reusable Hangman and a few fake and trick wands for his younger siblings.

'Aren't there any Pygmy Puffs?' the boy asked sadly.

'Not yet,' Harry said, squatting so he was on eye level with the child. 'But we ought to have some by the Christmas hols, if you come home. We'll have some for sure next summer.'

'I suppose my sister can wait a little longer. Our neighbor had a pink one. Piper wanted one for her birthday,' the boy sighed.

'How 'bout a few Self-Inking Quills? On the house,' Harry said. 'Not nearly as exciting as a Pygmy Puff, but I promise, we'll have everything back to how it should be soon.' Harry led the boy up to the counter so Ginny could ring up his purchases. 'Not quite how you pictured spending your birthday, eh?' he asked, sympathetically.

'Not really,' Ginny said dryly. 'Then again, I could be at home, sorting through my things for school. I think I prefer this.'

'I'm starting school this year!' piped up the boy excitedly. 'My parents were in Hufflepuff,'

Ginny smiled down at the boy. 'I'll see you on the train, then.' She handed him a paper sack with the magenta triple W logo of the shop on the side. 'So, what took you so long at lunch?' she asked. 'Getting my birthday present?'

'Maybe.'

'Is it bigger than a breadbox?'

'Yes.'

Ginny cocked her head to the side. 'Animal, vegetable, or mineral?'

'Yes.'

'You're no fun,' Ginny complained. 'Where'd you hide it?'

Harry leaned across the counter and kissed the tip of Ginny's nose. 'Nope. Not telling you. You'll just have to find out later.' He plunged back into the melee.

The rest of the day continued at the same blistering pace, until George locked the door at five. They helped the few customers who were still inside and ushered them to the door. Ron slumped against a shelf, mopping his brow with the sleeve of his robes. 'Blimey…' he breathed, too tired to say more.

George seemed indefatigable. 'Right, we need to take an inventory of what's on the shelves and what's in the back, and clean up a bit, then we can get home for Gin's party.'

Ginny took Harry's hand. 'We'll take the back.'

'NO!' George shouted, drawing astonished looks from Harry and Ginny. 'No… uh… I mean… I'll do the back… I know it all, it'll be faster…' He dashed into the back and swept the curtain closed.

Harry looked at Ron in bewilderment. 'What was that all about?'

Ron shrugged, his ears going red. 'No idea,' he said, quickly before turning to a shelf and counting the boxes of Ten Second Pimple Vanisher.

In the back, George pulled out the wide, flat box that held Ginny's new broom, and slipped out the back door. He Disapparated to the Burrow and ran up the paddock to the house. 'Mum!' he shouted. 'Mum!'

Molly burst from the house. 'What's the matter, George? Is it Ron? Ginny? Harry?' Her hands closed around George's upper arms.

Panting, George shook his head. 'No…' He thrust the box at Molly. 'Put this with Ginny's others…?'

Molly took the box with a beady-eyed look at George. 'Scare me out of my wits, just to keep Ginny from seeing her gift?'

'Sorry…' George shrugged. 'I panicked.' He hugged Molly. 'I need to get back before they realize I'm gone.' He grinned a little, and pelted back down to the end of the paddock to Apparate back to Diagon Alley.

'Sorry I missed the grand re-opening,' a voice said behind George. He whirled around to find Katie leaning against the door. She smiled apologetically. 'It got busy at work today, and I didn't get a chance to slip out for a minute.'

'Ah, no worries, then.' George tapped the doorknob with his wand and opened the door.

'I thought you were in the back,' Ginny said.

'I took some rubbish out,' George lied smoothly. 'Ran into Katie.'

'Hey, Katie, you have plans tonight?' Ginny asked.

'Not really.'

'Well, it's my birthday, and my mum's throwing a party, if you want to come. Keep George company, at least.'

Katie followed George into the back room, where he hung up his robes on his hook. 'So how've you been?' she asked George.

'All right. Busy.'

'I don't have to go to the party, if you don't want me to go,' Katie said, stung slightly at George's indifferent tone. 'I can make something up…'

George wrote a few things down on his clipboard before he answered Katie. 'Why wouldn't I want you to go?'

The side of Katie's mouth quirked in a wry grin. 'Well, you haven't written or anything since the last time I saw you.'

George put the clipboard down. He turned to face Katie, who was perched on the large table. 'It wasn't you, Katie, or anything you did. It just got really busy trying to get the shop opened again.' He scribbled something on the parchment in front of him. 'It would be nice if you came. Mum'll have dinner and a big cake with lots of chocolate frosting. All…' His breath caught in his throat. 'All my brothers will be there. I think even Luna and her barmy dad are coming.' He fiddled with his quill. 'I'd like for you to come…' he said to the quill.

'It won't be a problem?' Katie asked.

'Have you met my mum?' George snorted. 'She's not happy unless she's feeding twenty people.' George tossed Katie a spare clipboard. 'Here, make yourself useful.' He reached over and tapped the parchment, making a chart appear. 'You can help me inventory the merchandise back here.'

'Making me earn my keep for dinner, eh?' Katie drawled.

'Something like that,' George smirked. They worked together, dividing the storage shelves between the two of them. George didn't realize how much time had passed, until the three others came to stand in the doorway.

'George?' Ron poked his head through the doorway. 'We're done up here.'

'All right, then.' George looked at the group. 'Harry, can you Side-Along Ginny?'

'Erm… Not today…' Harry stammered. 'I, um, need to get something…'

'Birthday present?' Ginny guessed.

'You know, Gin… I could just go fetch it down, and give it to you right now.'

Ginny pretended to consider the idea and shook her head. 'Nah. Surprise me.' She took Ron's hand, and let him Side-Along her home. Harry heaved a sigh of relief and ran up to the flat and brought the parcel downstairs. By the time he had come down, George and Katie were gone.

Harry glanced down at the package in his arms. 'Here goes…' he murmured, before Disapparating to the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to read the novel Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh when I was in 6th grade (I was 12 years old). In it, Harriet and her nanny, Catherine 'Ole Golly' Golly have a tradition of reciting 'The Walrus and the Carpenter' by Lewis Carroll. The night Catherine leaves the household, she and Harriet recite this poem to each other, taking the lines in turns. It marked a transition in Harriet's life, and since then, I've always associated the line, 'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'To talk of many things...' with a change in someone's life.


	13. Birthday Surprises

Ginny raced up the stairs, shouting, 'I get the shower first!'

'Why should you get the first go?' Ron bellowed, following her. 'I'm the one that worked my arse off all bloody day!'

Ginny stopped on the threshold of the bathroom. 'Because it's my birthday.' She slammed the door shut in Ron's face. 'When it's your birthday, you'll get the bathroom first,' Ginny called through the door.

Ron sighed and stomped down the stairs, muttering under his breath. He was sweaty and irritable, and above all, starving. He'd nearly swallowed his lunch whole before darting back onto the floor. 'We need another bathroom,' he told Molly.

'We're fine,' Molly said. 'Just wait your turn, for goodness' sake. And it is Ginny's birthday. She won't be long.'

Ron looked longingly at the bowls of carrots, peas, runner beans, and potatoes on the table. 'How soon until dinner?'

Molly glanced at Ron with smile. 'Here.' She waved her wand, and a plate with a sandwich and an apple appeared on the table in front of Ron. 'That ought to hold you over.'

'Thank you, Mum!' Ron said gratefully, falling onto the snack.

Molly glanced out the window into the back garden, where George and Katie could be seen walking slowly up the paddock to the house. 'So what's the story with those two?'

Ron chewed a bite of apple, as he watched George walk with his hands shoved into his pockets. 'Oh, Katie came by after we closed and Ginny invited her over for the party.'

'Mmm-hmmm.' Molly leaned against the counter, her eyes on Katie. She remembered the evening last month when Katie had come to see George, emerging from his room after more than two hours, with a large damp splotch spread across the front of her shirt. She had asked Molly for a wet face cloth, a headache potion, and some tea. When Molly went to bed an hour later, she could hear George's husky baritone murmuring in response to Katie's soft alto tones. She was grateful someone had finally gotten George to talk. Molly had lain awake for hours, waiting for the tell-tale creaks of the stairs that would signal Katie's departure.

As George and Katie came into the garden, they stopped at the group of chairs clustered under the apple trees and pulled two of them to the side. George slouched on the edge of the chair, his feet stretched out in front of him. 'It was… different,' he told Katie. 'Fred and I always worked together like a single unit. Not that Ron isn't working out well,' he said hastily. 'But it's just… different…'

'Is it a bad thing?'

George shook his head. 'I don't think so. I mean, he's working really hard. Like he's got something to prove. I'm just not used to having to explain what I want done.'

'It's going to take some time,' Katie assured him. 'You'll get used to it.' Katie glimpsed George shifting uneasily in his chair. 'I don't have to stay,' she mumbled, looking down at her hands. There was an ink stain on the side of her middle finger. She began to rub her thumb over the small blob of black marring the faintly tanned skin of her finger. Harry came up to the chairs, and deposited something covered with cloth on one of the chairs, before heading into the house. Katie got up and set off for the paddock.

George gaped at the back of Katie's head. He sprang up from his chair and darted around her. 'Don't go,' he said softly, standing in front of her to block the path back to the Apparition point.

'Why shouldn't I?' Katie asked. 'It's rather obvious you don't want me around.' She ran a hand through her disordered hair, sweeping it from her face. 'I can take a hint.' She dodged around George and kept walking toward the stone wall that separated the paddock from the garden.

George spun around. 'What hint?' Katie didn't say anything, but kept her determined pace, climbing over the wall. 'Katie, wait!' George sprinted after her. 'Katie… come on…'

Katie came to a stop so suddenly; George nearly tripped trying to avoid her. 'You know, George, we've been friends a long time. When I came out of it at St. Mungo's, the Healers told me you'd come to see me nearly every day. You sent me all the notes you had for seventh year Charms, just so I could catch up. I earned a bloody Outstanding for that. You took me out to celebrate getting my job. You and I have always been able to talk about almost everything, and ever since I came round last month, you've pretended I don't exist!' Katie shoved George aside. 'Fine. I know when I'm not wanted.' She stomped away, fuming.

George watched her walk away, his mouth hanging open.  _ George, you git, go after her. _ George shook his head, trying to shake the feeling that Fred what whispering in his ear.  _ She's your friend, and you're behaving like a perfect wanker… _

George found himself stumbling after Katie, his hand closing around her wrist. 'Wait…' His mouth worked a few times, unsure of what to say next. 'I was embarrassed,' he blurted.

'I'm sorry… What?'

'After I cried all over you like a baby. I was embarrassed.' George shrugged vaguely. 'Blokes aren't supposed to do that.' George chewed a ragged fingernail. 'I didn't want to…' he mumbled around his thumb.

Katie crossed her arms over her chest. 'What?'

George let his hand drop, and he pushed both of them into the pockets of his jeans. 'You've been the only person I've been able to talk to about Fred; because I know you're not putting on a brave face for me.' He swallowed heavily. 'I've wanted to call you, but it felt like it was only because I was having a bad day,' George finished lamely.

'You're an idiot,' Katie pronounced.

'I know.'

'How many times did I write you, terrified I couldn't catch up in time for exams?' Katie challenged.

'At least once a day,' George said. 'Sometimes, twice.'

'And did you ever think I was only using you because I was having a bad day?'

'No,' George admitted quietly.

'It's what friends do, George Weasley,' Katie chided, still smarting.

'I know…' George's head drooped, and he traced patterns in the grass with the toe of a trainer. 'Please, Katie… Stay… It would upset Gin if you left.

'Do you want me to stay for Ginny or for you?' Katie asked.

'I want you to.'

Katie nodded once and began to walk back toward the house.

George's shoulders slumped in relief. Katie was one of the few friends he had that didn't remind him painfully of Fred. She had been his friend more than Fred's. Lee had come by once or twice earlier, but George had been unable to talk to him. Lee made him think about Fred far too much for George's comfort. He hadn't even been able to ask about Angelina, even though he knew she was probably grieving as well.

When he made it back to the garden, tables were already set up under the trees, and Katie was helping Molly set one of the tables. He took one of the tablecloths sitting in a chair and spread it over the other table, taking a stack of plates and doling them out around it. Molly left them alone, and George stole a glance at Katie, laying out forks and knives next to the plates. He cleared his throat. 'How's Ange?' he asked. 'She and Fred were pretty tight, weren't they…?' He had a vague memory of seeing Angelina at Fred's funeral, supported by Alicia and Katie on either side of her.

Katie set a fork next to a plate. 'She's getting better. Her mum and dad sent her to visit family in June.' Katie met George in the middle of the table. 'I saw her last week. She's working at WhizzHard Books. We're meeting up next week.'

'Where?'

'Some Muggle place. It's loads quieter.'

'Can I tag along?' George found himself blurting before he could stop himself.

'Sure. Angelina will be glad to see you.' Katie sat down in a chair. 'She asked about you.'

George closed his eyes and nodded. Seeing Angelina would be one more step.

* * *

Harry sighed and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Ginny was taking an uncharacteristically long time in the bathroom. He smoothed the shirt sitting on the step next to him, picking off invisible pieces of lint. He heard the door open behind him, and twisted around on the step. Ginny stood on the landing above him, clad in her dressing gown. She dropped to the step next to him. 'Okay,' she sighed.

'Huh?'

'Okay… Let's try things and see how they go…'

'Oh…' Harry rubbed the back of his neck. 'All right, then.'

Ginny stood up and began to move down the stairs. 'Just remember… I've got ssiii… five brothers who will kick your arse all the way to Siberia and back…' With that warning, she sashayed down the stairs; leaving Harry gawked at Ginny's back until she disappeared around a bend in the staircase. He was still sitting there when Charlie emerged from the second floor onto the third floor landing several minutes later.

'All right?' Charlie asked softly. 'Look like you've seen a Skrewt.' Harry nodded in response. Charlie gestured to the open bathroom door. 'Need to use the loo?' Harry shook his head, his eyes still trained on the path Ginny had taken downstairs. 'Right… I'm just going to dash in for a tick…' Charlie started to close the door and glanced back at Harry. 'Sure you're all right?'

'Yeah…' A slow smile spread across Harry's face. 'Brilliant.' Underneath the quiet elation was a tinge of sadness. Harry hadn't missed Ginny's correction to her number of brothers.  _ It wasn't your fault, _ he told himself, picking up his clean clothes and standing next to the bathroom door, waiting for Charlie to finish.

* * *

Ginny cleared the dinner dishes with a wave of her wand, sending them neatly into the kitchen. She grinned at Molly. 'Legal this time…' She picked up the first package and unwrapped a new watch from her parents. It was decidedly more delicate and feminine than the ones Harry and Ron had received last year.

Bill and Fleur gave her a pair of sapphire earrings, Charlie a pair of premium quality dragon-hide gloves. Percy unbent enough to give her a pair of professional grade Chaser's gloves. Hagrid gave her a moleskin pouch, similar to the one he'd given Harry. 'Heard ye migh be playin' professional-like next year,' he told her. 'Thought ye'd keep yer valu'bles innit durin' games.'

Ginny squinted up at Hagrid. 'How'd you hear about that?'

'Ah, Slughorn was goin' at dinner the other nigh' abou' how Gwenog Jones was goin' to take ye on.' Hagrid shook his head. 'Kep' sayin' it was all his doin'.'

Ginny snorted. 'Hardly,' she said softly. She reached for the next package from Andromeda and Teddy. The box opened to reveal a handsome leather-bound diary and a set of Muggle-style fountain pens.

'Remus said once you liked to write…' Andromeda said tentatively, aware of Ginny's history.

'I do,' Ginny said, stroking the buttery soft cover.

'Here, Ginny,' Luna said vaguely, handing her a soft package. Ginny gingerly pulled the paper off and discovered a soft, fluffy hat. 'It'll protect you from Blubbering Humdingers,' Luna said with the dreamy sincerity they had come to expect from her.

Ginny bit her lip, but managed to keep a straight face. 'Thank you, Luna. I'm sure it'll be useful.' Ginny slid the long box across the table. 'What on earth is this?' She ripped the paper off, and pried off the lid, her mouth opening in surprise.

'It's a Cleansweep Eight,' George said. 'Did you slip and fall in the bath earlier?'

'We thought you could do with a good broom, now that you're captain this year,' Ron added.

'About time you got your own broom,' Bill commented. 'You can stop picking the lock on the broom shed and stealing ours.'

'It's perfect,' Ginny breathed.

'Go take it for a spin,' suggested Charlie.

Ginny ran a fingertip down the dark, polished wood of the handle, tracing around the oval nameplate engraved with "Ginevra M. Weasley". She looked at George and Ron, with a raised eyebrow. 'Just had to use my real name, didn't you?' She regretfully laid the broom in its wrappings. 'I'll take it up tomorrow.' She pulled the last gift over the table. 'Hmmm. I wonder what this could be?' she asked flippantly, pulling the cloth off the cage. Inside, a small tawny owl sat on her perch, examining Ginny with bright-eyed interest. Ginny opened the cage and the owl minced out to sit on Ginny's wrist. Ginny stroked the soft feathers. 'Oh, thank you. My own owl,' she breathed in awe.

'Now you won't have to use a school owl all the time,' Harry said shyly, Teddy sleeping in his arms.

'Ariel,' Ginny said. 'That's her name.' The owl hooted softly, as if she was acknowledging her name. She preened Ginny's hair, then took off to hunt.

Andromeda left soon afterward, promising Molly she would come to lunch on Sunday. She came to the end of the table occupied by Harry and Ginny, and scooped Teddy from Harry's arms. 'I'll bring him over Saturday afternoon,' she told Harry, before walking with Molly down to the Apparition point.

Luna left a few minutes after Andromeda, claiming she had to fish for Plimpies, so her father could make her favorite meal before she went back to school. 'Plimpies must be caught before midnight,' she said, drifting down the lane toward her house.

Arthur hailed the Knight Bus for Hagrid to return to Hogwarts, and George escorted Katie down the paddock so she could Apparate home.

In time, it was only the family members left, sitting around the tables, chatting desultorily of this and that, under the twinkling fairy lights strung in the branches of the trees overhead. The hour grew late and the level of several bottles of wine and Firewhiskey lowered significantly as everyone seemed to try a little too hard to have a good time. Rather than attempt to go home, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy decided to stay the night. There was a flurry of motion as Molly tried to assign bedrooms. 'All right… Bill and Charlie can sleep in Bill's room; Fleur can sleep with Ginny… Percy, you can double up with George, and Ron and Harry are in the attic…'

'Erm, Mum?' Bill waved a hand in the air. 'I thought Fleur and I could actually share a room now…' He held up his left hand, the slim gold band around his ring finger glinting in the light from the fairy lights. 'Remember? A year on the first.' Fleur giggled softly. She was rather tipsy in spite of her protestations that being French, and practically weaned on watered wine, she could handle her drink.

Molly scowled at Bill for ruining her arrangements. 'I suppose…' she said reluctantly, rolling her eyes at the spectacle Bill was making with Fleur.

'Mum, I'll sleep in the sitting room,' volunteered Charlie. 'I have to get up early to get back to the school. Won't bother anyone.' He lurched to his feet. 'Isn't there a sleeping bag in the attic?'

'You'll do no such thing,' Molly huffed. 'I'll make up the sofa,' she insisted, stumbling a little as she tried to hurry into the house ahead of Charlie.

Charlie tried to catch her elbow, but tripped over his feet and ended up sprawled face-down in the grass. 'That's going to hurt later,' he chuckled to himself, managing to get back on his feet. He felt an arm slide around his waist, and turned his head to see Ron next to him.

'Get you to the sofa, at least…' Ron said, slurring a little.

'On your own to your room,' Charlie grunted.

'There's a handrail,' Ron said smugly.

'Five flights of stairs…'

Ron blinked blearily. 'I'll have a kip on the third landing.' They squeezed through the door into the kitchen.

Arthur followed them, surprisingly steady for the amount of liquor he'd drunk. 'Don't shtay...  _ stay _ out too long...' he told the ones who remained at the table.

Ginny leaned against Harry a little. She'd only had two glasses of wine, but she wasn't used to it. She swiped a finger through the chocolate frosting swirled on the plate in front of her, and licked it off with a slight hum of pleasure. 'Not nice, Gin…' Harry breathed, as his eyes unfocused slightly.

'Huh?'

Harry picked up his glass and drained the last of the wine from it. 'Nothing…'

Percy sat with his chin propped in his upturned palms, glasses askew. 'George?'

George picked his head up from the table. 'Yeah?'

'I can't feel my toes… Shouldn't I be able to feel my toes?'

George snickered a little. 'Can you wiggle 'em?'

Percy tried to look at his feet through the table. 'Dunno. Can't see 'em,' he whispered, sounding slightly stricken.

'Now you're really in trouble,' George sighed. He pushed himself to his feet. 'C'mon, Perce…' He put a hand under Percy's shoulder and hauled him to his feet.

'How'm I suppos'd t' walk without toes?' Percy asked in bewilderment.

'Don' worry… You'll find 'em in th' morning,' George yawned, half-dragging Percy into the house.

Bill and Fleur meandered into the house a few minutes later, too wrapped up in each other to notice Harry and Ginny still occupied one end of the table. Harry twirled a lock of Ginny's hair around his finger. 'I still have one more present for you,' he murmured.

'You already gave me an owl…'

Feeling braver than usual under the influence of the alcohol, Harry tipped Ginny's chin up and began to kiss her. He could taste the chocolate and the wine she'd consumed on her lips. He broke the kiss reluctantly, and rested his forehead against hers. 'That was even better than I remembered,' he mumbled.

The next thing Harry knew, he and Ginny were sitting on a blanket she had Summoned from her bedroom under the apple tree, facing the paddock. He didn't know what time it was, nor did he care. Ginny sat with her back against his chest, her head tilted back on his shoulder.

Ginny traced the scars on the back of Harry's hand that rested against her stomach. 'Fifth year, right?' she asked.

'Yeah…'

'What does it say?' she asked, lifting his hand toward her face, squinting at the faded words in the fading light.

'I must not tell lies,' Harry said flatly.

'She ought to have used it on herself,' Ginny snorted, brushing her lips across the back of Harry's hand, ignoring the sharp intake of breath over her head.

'A-a-a-all right…' Harry stammered. 'I've shown you one of mine…'

Ginny bit her lip, thinking for several long moments, then decided to inject some levity in the evening. She pulled the hem of her skirt up past mid-thigh. A long, thin, white scar bisected the skin. 'I got that right after I got my Hogwarts letter. Stole Dad's razor to shave my legs because I was all grown up. Mum opened the bathroom door to put some clean towels away, and it startled me.' Her hand moved sideways across her thigh. 'Sliced it right open. Didn't want Mum to find out, so I just put a million plasters on it.'

'Ouch. If it hadn't been for…' Harry took in a deep breath. 'Fred...' he said finally. 'I would have done that to my face. He had to teach me to shave my fourth year. I ran into him on the stairs in the boys' dormitory, and he told me my chin looked moldy. Took me into the bathroom of the sixth years' dormitory and showed me how to shave without committing suicide.' Harry pulled up the leg of his jeans. 'Feel that?' he asked, taking Ginny's hand and running it over his shin. She could feel a faintly pebbled patch of skin under the dusting of hair.

'Yeah.'

'I skidded on a patch of pavement running away from Du… Some others at my Muggle school.'

'Ouch,' Ginny said, wincing in sympathy. She tried to pull the back of her shirt up, but couldn't get it up far enough. Instead, she unbuttoned it, pushing it off her shoulders. A scar snaked across her shoulder blade. 'Fell off Charlie's old broom when I was nine. No broken bones, but I scraped against this tree.' Harry didn't know what made him do it, but he bent his head and ran his lips over the scar. Ginny shivered.

'Cold?' he asked.

'No…' Ginny cleared her throat. 'Is that all?' she challenged.

'Nope.' Harry rolled the sleeve of his shirt back to display two indentations in his arm. 'Nagini. Christmas Eve. What about you?' he said, keeping his hands in his lap. Ginny hadn't put her shirt back on, and sat in front of him in only her bra and a skirt. She didn't seem overly concerned about it.

Ginny pushed her hair away from her face. 'See that?' she said, pointing to a small scar that ran into her hairline. 'I got it last… October, I think. Crabbe shoved me in the corridor. I hit the wall.'

Harry pressed his lips to it. 'I'm sorry,' he said softly.

'It's all right.'

'I should have been there.' He slumped against the trunk of the apple tree.

Ginny knelt between his drawn up legs. 'It's nothing. McGonagall gave him detention. Slughorn made him scour all the cauldrons in the Potions classroom without magic.'

'Why didn't you go to Madam Pomfrey?'

Ginny shrugged. 'She would have asked questions.'

'Gin…'

Ginny shook her head forcefully. 'It's over, all right?' Ginny sat back on her heels. 'You next.'

Harry pulled his shirttails from his jeans and hauled it over his head. His chest glimmered in the darkness. He took Ginny's hand and laid her fingers over the roughened, oval-shaped scar over his heart. 'Riddle's locket. Hermione had to use a Severing charm to get it off.' He moved Ginny's fingers up to his throat to the faint line circling the base of it. 'Gryffindor's sword was in the bottom of this pool of water, and I dove in for it. The locket tried to drown me. Luckily, Ron was following me. He pulled me out of the water and went for the sword. Had to cut the locket off me.'

Ginny bent closer to Harry's bare chest. 'Is that a bruise?' she asked, tracing a bluish smudge around the scar.

'Yeah. It's where the Killing Curse hit me. I'm told it will heal. It'll just take a long time.' All of a sudden, Ginny's face crumpled and she began to cry. Harry was stunned. 'Oh God, Ginny, please don't cry,' he implored her.

'I thought you were dead,' she whimpered, unable to confess the feeling of desolation she'd felt. 'We all thought you were dead…'

Harry gathered her in his arms, rocking her gently. 'Shhhh,' he crooned into her hair. 'I'm sorry, Gin. I'm so sorry.' After a few minutes, Ginny calmed down, and Harry used his discarded shirt to wipe her face. 'If I could have done it any other way, Gin, I would have. I had to play dead or I would have been dead for real.'

'I know,' Ginny snuffled. 'Now, anyway. Doesn't make it any easier.'

Harry became uncomfortably aware of Ginny's skin under his hands. 'Gin? Could you put your shirt back on?' he asked hoarsely.

Ginny quickly sat up, and groped for her shirt. Her hand met nothing but grass. She turned back to Harry. He was holding the garment in his hand. He draped it over her shoulders, and waited for her to put her arms through the sleeves. The last of the fairy lights in the tree faded as the charm wore off, and Harry fumbled to button the shirt. 'Bloody hell,' he mumbled. 'It's backward.'

'What?'

'Buttons are on the wrong damn side,' he grumbled, attempting to do up the buttons.

'If I have to put mine on, so do you,' Ginny stated, nudging Harry's shirt toward him. Sighing, Harry complied.

'Ready to go in yet?' he asked in a muffled voice, as he yanked the shirt back over his head.

Ginny shook her head, the buttons slipping under her fingers. 'Bugger it,' she muttered, leaving the last few buttons undone. She couldn't see them anyway. 'Mind staying out a while longer?'

'No.' Harry leaned back against the trunk of the tree, and closed his eyes. 'Not at all.' Ginny settled against his chest once more, and he brushed the heavy mass of hair away from her neck and kissed the skin he uncovered. One hand drifted up and cupped the side of Ginny's face, as he began to kiss her, his other hand tangling in her hair as it grew more demanding. Ginny ended the kiss, but only so she could turn around, perching on Harry's lap.

She let her fingers skim over the stubble that roughened the skin along his jaw. 'Are you scared?'

'About this?' Harry turned his head to kiss her roaming fingertips. 'A little. I don't want to botch this up again…'

'I meant about your job,' Ginny snorted, dropping a soft kiss over Harry's mouth.

'Oh, that…' Harry turned his attentions to the other side of Ginny's neck. 'A lot,' he admitted, feeling a great deal of relief at finally coming clean with his fears. 'A full Auror at the tender age of eighteen…'

'Tender age of eighteen, my arse. You haven't been the tender age of anything in years…'

'Yeah, I know… Don't remind me…' Harry's hands slid down to Ginny's waist. 'I'd be a fool not to be terrified.' He gasped softly as Ginny found a sensitive spot behind his ear he didn't know he had. 'Just don't want to look like a gormless idiot.'

'You won't,' Ginny promised. 'But why are you scared about this?'

'You have a lot of older brothers who will cheerfully rip me to shreds without a scrap remorse if I cock this up again…'

Ginny kissed the corner of Harry's mouth. 'So that's something for you to work on, then, isn't it?'

'Yeah…' Harry lifted one of Ginny's hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. She twisted a little so she sat sideways in his lap, her head against his shoulder, her hand twined with his. 'Happy birthday, Gin…' he murmured. The day caught up with them, and Harry fell asleep, his cheek resting on top of Ginny's head. Ginny felt his breath stir her hair as his chest rose and fell slowly under her hand. She fought sleep as long as she could, his heartbeat vibrating against her palm. Soon, her eyes gradually closed, and Ginny's breathing slowed and deepened until she, too, slept.


	14. Morning, Noon, and Night

Harry shifted in his sleep, hazily aware of an unfamiliar weight against his chest, and a very familiar scent wreathing his head. He woke up with a start, his arms tightening around Ginny's waist. It was still dark, with no hint of dawn in the skies. He brought his wrist up and squinted at the face of his watch. It was a quarter past three. His feet were strangely numb, and he couldn't figure out why until he realized Ginny was sprawled in his lap, cutting off the circulation to his feet.

He tried to shift her a little, so she sat between his thighs, and not on them, without waking her up. Her skirt was bunched under her knees, so when he eased her off his right leg to the grass, the waistband of her skirt slipped down and the back of her shirt rode up slightly. He glanced down involuntarily and the smudge of black against the glimmer of her ivory-hued skin made his head reel. 'Oh, God…' he breathed. He'd never really given Ginny's knickers much thought before, beyond idle speculation his sixth year when he should have been studying or doing homework. His fingertips traced the line of her skin over the edge of the knickers, curving across her lower back. His hand spread over the expanse of exposed skin, feeling his pulse begin to race. Harry's head dropped against the trunk of the apple tree, and he stared at the stars through the latticework of branches overhead, willing himself to breathe deeply. His fingers closed regretfully around the hem of Ginny's shirt, tugging it gently down as far as he could.

Dawn was breaking when he finally fell asleep once more.

* * *

Molly rose early the next morning, just as she did every day. She noted ruefully that she'd put her nightdress on inside out, as she pulled her dressing gown on, and tiptoed down the stairs. They didn't creak, as she stole down the stairs. The charm recognized her, and muted the exaggerated squeaks and screeches that it offered up for the children. On the landing outside Ginny's bedroom, she stopped, frowning. Ginny's bedroom door was open. Ginny never slept with her bedroom door open. Molly pushed the door open wider, and gasped, as Ginny's neatly bed came into view. There was no way Ginny was awake yet. She never made her bed until well after breakfast. Molly turned sharply to Bill's old room, and with a deep breath, pressed her ear to the door. Satisfied at the sounds of silence that met her, she eased the door open a crack, praying she wouldn't interrupt anything. It was one thing to be cognizant of what your son did with his wife. It was quite another to be greeted with it first thing in the morning. They were both wedged into the narrow bed, sound asleep. Molly dashed up the stairs to the second floor, bypassing what had been Fred and George's room, jabbing her wand at the door to Percy's room. The door swung open, revealing Percy sprawled in wild abandon over the bed, while George curled up in a tight ball in a sleeping bag on the floor. She glanced up at the ceiling and climbed the stairs to the attic, waving her wand at Ron's bedroom door. Ron was on his back, his arms and legs at bizarre angles, but the camp bed where Harry had taken to sleeping the past few weeks, was ominously empty, as well. She stumbled quickly down to the ground floor and peered into the sitting room. Charlie was curled on the sofa, the blanket twisted around him, one hand trailing on the floor.

Molly frantically tried to remember if Harry and Ginny had actually come inside the house last night. She remembered Ron coming in with Charlie, George and Percy half-dragging each other up the stairs, Arthur strolling in nonchalantly, giving her a hearty smack on the bum on his way up to bed, then Bill and Fleur glided up to bed before Molly herself had gone to bed. She couldn't remember seeing either Harry or Ginny come inside.

The blood drained from Molly's face. Arthur had confessed a few weeks ago there were still a few Death Eaters who hadn't been captured yet by the Ministry.

The serene morning was shattered by Molly's blood-curdling scream.

Charlie jerked as the ear-piercing screech woke him, and he fell off the sofa, tangled in the blanket, landing on the floor with a  _ thud _ . 'What the hell, Mum?' he asked sleepily.

'It's Ginny!' Molly cried. 'She's not in her bed!'

Charlie's brows knit in a frown. 'Are you sure…?' he asked hazily, still trying to wake up.

'Yes, of course I'm sure,' Molly snapped.

'If you want us to wake up early, Mum, there are much gentler ways of doing so,' George grumbled as he followed Bill and Percy into the sitting room.

'Ginny's missing,' Molly told him, fear settling in the pit of her stomach.  _ I thought this was over… _ she wailed to herself.

'So's Harry,' Ron mumbled, dropping to the bottom step, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Arthur shuffled into the room, dodging Ron hunched on the stairs, tying the belt of his dressing gown. 'All right, boys, let's go.' The fact that all six of them already had their wands in a pocket or in hand was a testament to what the past year had been like. They hit the back door at a run, fear etched on their faces. 'Spread out,' Arthur ordered quietly.

Ron's face was set in tense lines as he crept next to Bill, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his wand. He stopped cold as he noticed Harry's battered trainer on the other side of the trunk of the apple tree. 'Dad,' he whispered. Arthur looked at him questioningly. 'There…' Ron pointed to the ominously still foot.

Percy's eyes squeezed shut. That had been a hallmark of some of the Death Eaters and their supporters he'd known in the Ministry last year – to kill a person, then leave their body for their families to find. Of course, they had always used  _ Avada Kedavra _ . 'Oh, please, no…' he murmured fearfully.

Charlie was the first to reach them. It was obvious from the movements of their chests they were both breathing. His head cocked to one side, as he examined them with an idea of sketching them later. Harry's overgrown hair just barely touched Ginny's dark red head, leaving inky shadows in the auburn. Harry's arms were wrapped tightly around Ginny's waist, his wand protruding from his pocket. Ginny's fingers were entwined through Harry's, her head resting easily just below one of his shoulders. He glanced at his brothers and father and gave them a crooked smile and a shrug. It was his way of saying,  _ It's all right. _

'Should we wake them?' Bill asked softly. He shifted, making a twig snap in two with a loud  _ crack _ in the still morning.

Ron shrugged. It still startled him a little to see Harry sleep so deeply.

Harry's eyes flew open. His blood froze at the sight of six Weasley men with inscrutable looks on their faces. 'Oh, bloody hell…' he whispered. 'Gin…' he murmured, shaking her a little.

'What?' Ginny tried to burrow into Harry a little more.

Harry straightened his glasses. 'Seriously, Gin… wake up…'

'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' Ginny grumbled, stretching. 'Why? Sleep is so much better…'

'Um, Gin, I think your brothers are about to kill me…'

Ginny slowly opened her eyes to find Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron standing in a semi-circle in front of them. Arthur seemed to be amused, but tried to hide it. Ginny noticed he couldn't quite squelch the twinkle in his dark blue eyes. Bill seemed to be wavering between irritation and something else Ginny couldn't define. Charlie's eyes were hooded and intense, but it wasn't anger behind them. Percy seemed relieved, and Ron looked like he just wanted to go back to bed. George… George's face was slowly turning red. She felt Harry's hand grip hers tightly, the both of them waiting tensely for what George would do.

None of them expected the peals of laughter that erupted from George. He doubled over and sat down hard on the dew-wet grass. Gasping for air, he stammered, 'I can't do it… I just can't do it…' He tilted his head back and took in the expanse of blue sky overhead. 'Did you see the looks on their faces?' he murmured, hoping Fred could hear him. George burbled with more laughter, slapping Harry on the knee. 'Ah, Fred would have gotten a kick out of this. Harry, he would have taken the mickey out of you until the day you died.' George flopped to his back. 'Or had a handsome set of twins and named them Gred and Forge.' He panted for breath a few times, then began to giggle again.

Ginny scrambled to her feet, Harry following in her lead. 'Come on Harry. Let's go help Mum with breakfast. Gits,' she muttered, before flouncing back to the house, Harry trailing in her wake. She glanced back at him. He was wearing a slightly troubled frown.

Arthur watched them walk back toward the house, Harry throwing glances over his shoulder, every few steps, worry clearly etched on his face. Arthur winked a little at him. 'Well. Everything seems to be all right, then!' he said heartily, rubbing his hands together.

Harry mouthed a heartfelt,  _ thank you _ , to Arthur, before he turned his gaze back to Ginny. She was still fuming. Ginny slowed her strides, and waited for Harry to catch up to her. She snorted and shook her head. The corner of Harry's mouth turned up shyly.

George's laughter slackened a little. 'Nice boxers, Perce,' he choked. 'Priceless… Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle… Where d'you even begin to find boxers with Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle?' he howled.

Ginny and Harry were met in the kitchen by Fleur, who handed them a wad of cotton wool. 'In your ears,' she whispered. 'Quickly…'

Ginny ignored the advice, and continued into the sitting room. Harry, who valued his hearing, tore off a few small pieces from the larger wad and stuffed them into his ears. Taking a deep breath, he gave Fleur a wan smile, then followed Ginny into the sitting room.

'What were you thinking?' Molly shouted.

'I wasn't thinking anything,' retorted Ginny.

'Clearly,' snapped Molly. 'Have you any idea how worried I was when I discovered you hadn't slept in your bed?'

'Did it occur to you to look out the window?'

'You may be of age, young lady, but don't think for an instant you can speak to me in that tone of voice,' Molly said. She paced the sitting room's confines for a moment, before taking in the two teenagers standing in front of her – one obviously terrified, and the other in a fit of pique. 'Curfew,' Molly pronounced. 'Ten-thirty, you will be inside this sitting room.'

'You're joking,' Ginny protested. None of the others had ever had to be inside the house that early before.

'Argue some more, and I'll make it nine-thirty,' Molly heatedly informed her daughter.

'It's fine, Molly,' Harry quickly said.

'How can you –?' Ginny rounded on Harry. 'How can you take her side?'

'I'm not taking sides,' Harry soothed. 'We should have come back inside…'

'Unbelievable!' Ginny screeched, stomping up the stairs.

Harry looked at Molly apologetically. 'We just fell asleep,' he said, in an attempt to explain. The look Molly gave him was one that he'd seen her hurl at the others, but never at him. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Harry went up the stairs to wash and change.

Arthur ambled into the sitting room, and plopped into his favorite armchair. He glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall by the fireplace. 'Why didn't you look at the clock, dear?' Harry and Ginny's hands were firmly at "Home".

Charlie came in behind Arthur and headed for the sofa, stretching out again. 'I think the real question is,' he began tiredly and yawning. 'Why didn't any of us look at that clock, either?' With that he pushed his head under the pillow, and fell asleep once more.

For once, Molly had nothing to say.

* * *

Ron rested his head on the counter, feeling like a limp piece of lettuce. 'We need some help,' he moaned softly into the polished wood.

'You think?' George retorted without any real heat in his voice, folding his arms on the counter across from Ron, and burying his head in them.

'We have to,' Ron continued, unaware of the tone in George's voice. 'Ginny's going back to school in a couple of weeks, and Harry's starting at the Ministry the day after.'

'Yeah, I'm aware of that…' George said with a hint of irritation.

'I put an advertisement in the  _ Prophet _ last week,' Ron confessed, turning his head so he could see George.

'You did?' George's head lifted in surprise.

'Yeah. After those first few days, I figured we were going to need the help once Harry and Gin had to leave. I've already had a few replies.' Ron rummaged in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a few scraps of parchment. He slid them across the counter to George. 'Look, George, I'm sorry if I've overstepped myself…'

'You didn't,' George said shortly. 'I should have done this myself.' He rubbed the corner of his eye. 'It was just something that F-f-fred usually did.' He sighed and picked up the pieces of parchment. 'It was his job, that. He's the one that hired Verity, you know.'

'I'm not surprised,' Ron said wryly. 'Was she any good?' At George's doubtful expression, Ron added, 'Truthfully.'

'She added a certain charm to the place,' George said finally, unwilling to say anything negative about his former employee. 'The boys were so busy looking at her, they didn't have time to try and slip anything into their pockets.'

'Whatever works for you, then,' Ron said, stretching.

George looked down at the letters in his hand. 'Which ones did you like?' He held them out to Ron.

Ron looked down at the parchment in George's slightly trembling hand. 'Why don't you read them first?' he suggested. 'Then  _ we _ can talk about it.' Ron ground his teeth in frustration. George didn't seem to want to take the lead on anything, and Ron was uncertain in what to do with the shop. He could order supplies and handle the sales floor well enough, but when it came to making decisions about what to do with the shop itself, Ron was almost clueless. He didn't know enough to take on those small day-to-day tasks that nearly paralyzed George.

George's fingers closed around the letters, crushing them in his hands. 'All right.'

* * *

Ginny found Harry under a tree, studying. They weren't working at the shop anymore. George and Ron had hired a couple of wizards who hadn't been able to finish school, and hadn't really wanted to go back, either. Sasha had been one of those Slytherins who had kept to himself to the point that neither Ron, nor George, could place him. Sasha confessed the Sorting Hat had placed him in Slytherin because his whole family had gone to Durmstrang, not out any sort of blood snobbery. David was Muggle born, and had been in Hufflepuff. But they seemed to work in some sort of bizarre harmony. David's sense of humor was actually wickeder than Sasha's.

She folded herself to the grass with a sigh, realizing she ought to get her Potions book and get some reading done, too. 'How can you study?'

Harry glanced at Ginny over the rims of his glasses. 'Open book, read, take notes…'

Ginny snorted and rearranged her ponytail, trying to encourage a little of the elusive breeze to cool the back of her neck. 'It's too hot to study,' she pronounced.

'Says you,' Harry chuckled softly, scratching a potion reference into his notebook.

'Take a break,' Ginny cajoled. 'We can go swimming.'

Harry shook his head slightly. 'I can't swim, really.'

Ginny frowned. She seemed to recall Harry swimming in the Black Lake in the Triwizard. 'But the second task…? The merpeople?'

Harry closed his book. 'You don't know?'

'Know what?'

He smiled. 'That was Dobby,' he told her, with a slight catch to his voice. 'He brought me gillyweed. Saved my life.' Harry's throat closed, and he coughed a few times. He knew he ought to go to Shell Cottage soon and pay his respects. 'So, yeah,' he continued, fiddling with his quill. 'I don't really swim very well.'

'I can teach you,' Ginny said promptly.

'Who taught you?'

'Charlie. The summer before he went to Romania.'

Harry set the book aside and stretched. 'One problem,' he stated.

'And that would be…?'

'I don't have any trunks,' Harry pointed out. 'The Dursleys didn't exactly take me on holidays to the beach,' he added wryly.

Ginny waved off his concern blithely. 'There's a cupboard in the scullery with some of the boys' old trunks. There ought to be a pair that fit you.' She got to her feet. 'Meet back here in ten minutes?'

'Um, okay…' Harry had a feeling he'd been neatly outfoxed, because in fifteen minutes he found himself standing on the riverbank, an old and worn blanket spread on the grass, their clothing piled on a corner. 'Does you mum know you wear that?' he asked, fingering a strap of Ginny's bikini. It didn't leave much to the imagination.

'Of course she does,' Ginny said pertly. 'She was with me when I bought it.'

'Somehow, I don't think I'm meant to see you in it…' Harry murmured. 'You're practically naked.'

Ginny grinned and dove into the river. 'Come in, the water's fine.'

Harry tentatively dipped a toe into the water. 'It's kind of chilly…'

'It's better if you just jump in,' Ginny advised, watching him set his glasses carefully on the blanket on top of his discarded shirt.

Harry took a deep breath, and jumped. He came up spluttering. 'Merlin's bollocks, that's cold!'

'Wuss.' Ginny tossed her head disdainfully.

Harry stood in the river, the current tugging gently at his toes. Ginny swam lazily around him, her hair streaming behind her. 'Now what am I supposed to do?' he asked, struggling to refrain from folding his arms over his chest.

Ginny stood next to him. 'Just bend your knees,' she instructed. 'Spread your arms out, and lean back. Just let your feet come up. Like this.' She demonstrated, floating on her back, her arms outstretched, palms facing up. 'Hold your breath a little, too.' Ginny put her feet on the river bottom and straightened up. 'You try it. I'll hold you.' Harry squeezed his eyes shut and followed Ginny's instructions. He could feel her hands under his back, holding him up in the water. 'Don't worry,' she said softly. 'I've got you.'

Harry felt slightly ridiculous. Ginny was several inches shorter than he was, and she was the one holding him up. He couldn't remember feeling this free and weightless off a broom before. He didn't feel Ginny's hands slip from under his back, one after the other. He slowly opened both eyes, staring into the cloud-dotted sky above. It felt peaceful here. Harry wondered if it was wrong for him to feel this tranquil, as if he could let his guilt and trepidations float away on the meandering current and out to sea.

Ginny bit her lip, as Harry floated tranquilly, a few feet downriver. The livid bruise she had seen last week on her birthday was even more vivid in the daylight. It spread in an ugly purplish-blue splotch from his heart unfolding across his chest in a mark the size of her hand, if she stretched her fingers out, fading to grey toward the edges. The smudged scar under the bruise provided a vile epicenter. Ginny wondered if Riddle had known about the scar when he tried to kill Harry. Her father had once told her that things would look better in the light of day. She reached out involuntarily and traced the outer edges of the bruise, unwilling to go any further.

The sensation of the cold water dripping from Ginny's fingertips made Harry come back to himself with an explosive gasp. He scrambled to put his feet on the riverbed and stood up. Ginny stood frozen, one hand in the air. He grasped her wrist and guided her hand to his chest, placing her palm flat over the scar. With an impulse she didn't understand, Ginny tugged her hand away and brushed her lips over the roughened patch of skin. 'What was that for?' Harry asked hoarsely, squinting down at Ginny in confusion.

'It's supposed to make it better,' Ginny said shakily. She paused. 'Does it?'

Harry's hand rose from the water, and gently rubbed over the scar. 'Doesn't make it worse.'

Ginny sniffed. 'Well, it made  _ me _ feel better.'

* * *

Somewhere, an ordinary clock chimed midnight.

Ginny lay in the armchair, her legs draped over the back, head hanging off the seat. 'I've never really heard Mum and Dad say "I love you" to each other.'

Harry sat with his back against the chair, his head next to Ginny's. 'Are the words themselves important, do you think?'

'I don't know.' Ginny began to cast stitches on a crochet hook, idly making a chain. 'Words don't always mean much, you know?' She quietly added another row to the one she'd begun. 'But you never doubted how they felt about each other. They don't  _ have _ to say it.'

'Why not?' Harry asked curiously. 'I'd think a person might  _ want _ to hear it sometime.'

'True enough,' Ginny allowed. 'But it's what they  _ do _ for each other that counts.' She turned her head to look at Harry's profile in the dim light. 'With them, love is an action, more than a feeling.'

'So, words aren't necessary, then…'

* * *

_ Ginny walked swiftly through the corridor at school; her bag slung over one shoulder, her eyes on the floor in front of her. Her shoulders hunched, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. The shoves from most of the Slytherins had gotten worse. She hated having to behave like this, but if she retaliated, it would be worse for her later. Detention with the Carrows, so the extraordinarily thick Slytherins could practice the Cruciatus Curse on her. When Crabbe or Goyle did it, they could barely pronounce the words; much less perform the necessary wand movements. The curse itself didn't hurt. It was the repetition that made her ache. Over and over, it jolted through her veins. But no matter how much it hurt, tears were not an option… _

Harry awoke with a start. He knew he'd never know precisely what Ginny had gone through at school last year. No matter. His imagination could provide plenty of fodder for his dreams. 'Are y'all right, mate?' Ron muttered sleepily.

'Yeah,' Harry said huskily, breathing deeply. 'Go back to sleep…' He held his breath, waiting to hear the soft snores that signaled Ron's slumber. He curled on his side, clutching a pillow to his chest. He still dreamed. Not with the regularity that he had immediately after the war, but often enough. The sporadic nature of dreams gave him a small measure of apprehension as he tried to sleep. He never knew – would tonight be one of the nights?

He closed his eyes, and tried to think of something more pleasant. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Ginny. He clung to small details, like the feel of her hand on his chest, or the scent of her hair under his nose while they rocked in the hammock.

_ Harry walked down the length of the table in the Great Hall, focused on the sheen of her hair in the morning sunlight. It shone like a beacon, guiding him to the balm for his wounded soul. He grasped her wrist and tugged her from the bench. Wordlessly he led her out of the hall and up stairs to Gryffindor Tower. They stumbled through the portrait hole and Harry started for the spiral staircase that led to the boys' dormitories. He jabbed his wand at the door to the seventh years' dormitory at the top of the stairs, and it flew open magically. He pulled Ginny into the room, jabbing his wand at the door once more, and it slammed shut, and locked with an audible click. Harry's hand trailed down the side of Ginny's hip, gathering the skirt she wore in one hand, while he all but pushed her against the door… _

'Harry, wake up!'

'Unghhhh.'

'Harry, it's ten… You've quite missed breakfast.'

Harry jerked painfully awake. 'I'm up, I'm up… I'm… awake…' he corrected hastily, flipping over to his other side, facing away from Ginny, feeling the slow flush creep up his neck. 'I'll be down in a minute,' he said breathlessly.  _ I hope… _

'All right…' Ginny said skeptically. Harry held his breath until he heard the door close softly behind her.

Rolling over on his back, Harry glared down his body. 'Seriously? Now? You pick now to do that?' He let his head fall back to the pillow. He hadn't dreamed about Ginny like that in more than a year. He lifted a shaking hand, and wiped the sweat that suddenly beaded his brow.

It seemed some things were returning to normal.


	15. Mending

Harry peered at his watch. It was after ten. They would have to go inside soon. 'Hey, Ginny…' he said, prodding her gently. 'We need to go inside. Curfew.'

Ginny's eyes narrowed, but she rose from the bench they had dragged under the apple tree and began to trudge to the house. She went into the sitting room and plopped on the rug, her back against the sofa. Harry joined her, frowning. Ginny's mood had taken a sudden nosedive in response to his announcement. 'Something wrong, Gin?' he asked lightly.

'How could you just let Mum set a curfew like that?'

Harry's mouth dropped open as he turned his head to look at Ginny. 'Huh?'

'We're both adults,' Ginny argued. 'And she's treating us like we're just _children_!'

Bewildered Harry shook his head slightly. 'Gin, that was over a week ago…'

'And your point?' Ginny asked icily.

'Why didn't you talk to me last week about this?' Harry said uncertainly.

Ginny shrugged. 'I was busy,' she said blithely.

'Are you joking?' Harry huffed.

'I just want to know why you didn't back me up when Mum was setting this bloody curfew on us.'

Harry let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. 'I don't like confrontations,' he told Ginny.

'Could have fooled me,' Ginny snorted. 'I've seen you have plenty of confrontations.'

'I don't like fighting,' Harry sighed. 'I really don't like losing my temper…'

'Oho! You must think I've gone barking,' Ginny objected. 'I've _seen_ you. I've seen you happy, upset, distressed, frightened… I've seen you nearly die more than once. I've seen you weep. I've seen you withdraw so far into yourself, you damn near disappear into the wallpaper.'

'That's not the same thing,' Harry interjected, pushing himself to his feet. He paced the length of the sitting room, throwing indignant glances at Ginny as he did so. 'Those last few months, after we escaped from the Malfoys' – '

'Wait,' Ginny interrupted. 'What do you mean, "escaped from the Malfoys"?'

'We were captured by Snatchers and taken to Lucius Malfoy's house. Dobby helped us get out of the dungeon under the house.' Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'I'll explain some other time,' he said, evading the questions in Ginny's eyes.

'But my point is,' he continued. 'Is that those last few months, I was calmer than I've ever been before. Not that I didn't feel anything. I still felt annoyed or upset, but I didn't let it control me… I don't want to let something like that control me…' Harry could feel his body shaking, and some remote corner of his mind wondered if Ginny could see it. 'I don't like fighting,' Harry repeated. 'I didn't want to fight with Molly over it. Face it, Gin; we were slightly irresponsible, given what's still out there.'

'Harry, there's so many wards around this place, I'm surprised bloody _owls_ can get through to deliver the post,' Ginny argued.

'Wards can be broken,' Harry said soberly. He dropped onto an ottoman and buried his face in his hands. 'This is my home, Ginny,' he whispered. 'I've only ever had two – Hogwarts and here…' His throat tightened as he recalled standing on the hearth rug a month ago, pleading with Molly and Arthur to allow him to stay. 'I don't want to be in a position where I _have_ to leave. And if I give your parents a reason to not trust me…' Harry's shoulders jerked in a shrug. 'I don't want to give them a reason not to trust me.'

Heaving a sigh, Harry stood up. 'I'm going to bed,' he muttered. He stomped up the stairs, fuming silently. He shoved open the door of Ron's room and threw himself on the camp bed. Ron looked up from the journal in his lap.

'Bee in your bonnet?' he asked mildly.

Harry yanked off one trainer, then the other and threw them across the room. 'Your sister…' he growled. 'She's impossible.'

Ron closed the journal slowly, leaving the quill between the pages. 'This is news to you?'

Harry yanked the pillow from its place on the camp bed and held it over his face, pressing it down, shouting his frustrations into the feathers. He flung it to the floor, panting and glared at Ron through the smudged lenses of his glasses. 'No, it's not.'

'What did she do this time?' Ron asked curiously.

Harry flopped back onto the mattress, making it creak ominously. 'She got shirty with me because I didn't stand up to your mum over the curfew.'

'That was last week,' Ron blurted incredulously.

'Yeah…'

'So why didn't you stand up to Mum over that?' Ron slid down his bed, and propped his head on a hand.

'I don't want your parents to think I can't be trusted with Ginny.'

Ron burst into near-hysterical laughter. 'That's the funniest thing I've heard all day,' he snorted with mirth. 'Mum and Dad probably trust you more than the rest of us combined. You could probably stay in her bedroom all night, and they might think all you did was hold hands and play Scrabble.'

George poked his head through the door. 'What's so funny?'

'Harry doesn't want to give Mum and Dad a reason to think he's untrustworthy,' Ron intoned dramatically.

George raised an eyebrow. 'You're the savior of the wizarding world. The sun rises and sets on you.'

Harry sat up, his eyes blazing with umbrage at Ron and George's comments. He took several deep breaths before he spoke in an effort to control himself. 'Okay, first of all, I'm not planning on compromising Ginny's reputation any time soon.' He squirmed, horribly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

'Why? You think she's unattractive?' George inquired, with the air of Muggle television reporter.

'I… Uh…' Harry stammered, flustered. 'Will you punch me if I say no?' he asked George, flinching slightly.

'Not at the mo, but I reserve the right to do so at a later date,' George replied immediately.

'Is it just me or has this conversation suddenly gotten barmy?' Harry muttered. 'No, I don't think she's unattractive, I just don't want to do… _that_ … with Ginny right now,' Harry choked, feeling the back of his neck sizzle. He rubbed it self-consciously, sure that Ron and George could feel the heat emanating from it. 'And I'll let all the 'Boy-Who-Lived' shite slide, because it's coming from you,' he said pointedly. 'Anyone else would get the business end of a Jelly-Legs Jinx.' He blew out an explosive breath and snagged the pillow from the floor, dropping it on the camp bed and flopping down on it. 'Could we drop this?'

'Ginny's upset because Harry didn't side with her over the curfew,' Ron told George in a low voice.

'Ah. That explains a lot…' George sat on the rug between Ron's bed and Harry's camp bed. He patted Harry's shoulder sympathetically. 'Give Gin a day or two to settle down. She's got Mum's temper. Blazes like a potions explosion for a while, then burns itself out.'

'Yeah,' added Ron. 'Don't worry about it, mate. Besides, she's going back to school in a couple of weeks, and I'm sure Mum will drop the curfew by Christmas.'

'Yeah, that's a relief,' Harry retorted. 'It'll be too cold to be anywhere else besides the sitting room in December.'

'Where we can keep a steadfast watch over you and Gin,' George chortled.

'Brilliant,' Harry huffed, closing his eyes.

* * *

Ginny rocked in the hammock, one eye cracked open and trained on the house. Molly was in a cleaning frenzy and Ginny was trying to lie low so she wouldn't have to pull all the furniture in her room into the middle of the floor and scrub the baseboards. She hated doing it the Muggle way, and she wasn't too keen on doing it with magic, either. Satisfied that Molly wasn't going to find her, Ginny let both her eyes close. She tried to relax, but couldn't. Harry hadn't talked to her since their argument last night. Shacklebolt had sent an owl early that morning, asking Harry to meet him, so he'd left with Arthur after breakfast, leaving Ginny at something of a loose end. She spent the morning reviewing her notes from Transfiguration from last year and read the first few chapters of her Charms textbook. After lunch, she escaped the oppressive stuffiness of the house and took refuge in the cool shadows lacing over the hammock.

'Budge up,' a voice said over her.

Ginny opened her eyes to slits. Harry stood over her, a study in weariness. Ginny scooted over a little, allowing Harry to insinuate himself into the webbing. 'Do you ever have to do something you'd rather not do?'

'All the time,' she said warily.

'I have to use Legilimency,' Harry stated flatly. 'On Death Eaters.' He barked with ironic laughter. 'Well, except for _one_ Death Eater in particular.'

'Who?'

'Malfoy,' Harry ground out. 'Draco,' he clarified. 'He can use Occlumency to block it. So he gets to take Veritaserum, and I get the supreme joy of questioning him about his activities twice a year.' He reached up and massaged his temples, a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes.

'What does Legilimency do?'

'I can see…' Harry inhaled slowly. 'Inside someone's mind.' He turned so he lay facing Ginny. 'Memories. Feelings.' He shuddered violently. 'It's horribly intrusive.' He shivered, prompting Ginny to press the back of her hand against his forehead.

'Do you feel unwell?' she asked.

'Kingsley… Made me practice on him.'

'But you like Kingsley.'

'Bad memories with Legilimency,' Harry explained, wrapping himself around Ginny, pulling her tightly against him in an effort to stop shivering. 'I don't like it… Kingsley tried to keep it as pleasant as possible, but even he couldn't keep memories from the last three years from leaking through.'

They swayed in silence in the hammock for several long moments before Harry spoke up again. 'I don't like the curfew any more than you do,' he confessed.

'That's all I wanted to hear,' Ginny murmured.

Harry raised his head just enough to gaze down at Ginny. 'You're bloody mad, you know,' he informed her conversationally. 'Completely out of your tree.'

'Get used to it,' Ginny said flippantly.

* * *

George swept a pile of Knuts into his hand and stowed them in the drawer of the ornate Muggle-style cash register on one end of the counter. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted from the day. The shop had been steadily busy from the moment it had opened that morning at nine. It was nearly five, and George reached for his wand to lock the front door when he heard the bell over the door chime. He looked up from the account book on the counter and saw Katie walk toward him, dodging the last few customers. 'Hey…'

'Why didn't you come Sunday?' she asked, without preamble.

'I had to work Sunday,' George mumbled, adding a column of figures. 'We ran out of a lot of stuff last week.'

'You should have sent an owl to let me know you couldn't come,' Katie hissed.

'I forgot,' George muttered, fiddling with the quill in his hand.

'How can you forget common courtesy?' Katie turned on her heel and began to stalk to the door. 'Next time, if you say you're going to come with me, then _do_ it.' She left the shop, slamming the door so hard, the glass shook ominously.

George's head dropped to the counter top.

He hadn't gone to meet Katie and Angelina because he was scared. Angelina reminded him of Fred. Actually, everything reminded him of Fred, but some things reminded him of Fred more than others. The shop, of course, but it wasn't as bad as their bedroom at home, or the flat upstairs. They reminded him Fred was gone, and wasn't coming back. The shop, however, was like a living, breathing part of Fred that couldn't die. Not if George had anything to say about it.

But Angelina…

George could clearly see the last time Angelina and Fred were together. It had been a clandestine meeting with the four of them – Fred, Angelina, Katie and him. They had met at a Muggle pub in Highbridge for drinks, then snuck back to Auntie Muriel's house. It was so large that they could tiptoe to a little-used wing of the house that included a large suite of rooms. He, Fred, and Ginny would sometimes slip up to it, just to escape Muriel's constant harping on them. Fred and Angelina had disappeared into one of the rooms that radiated off a sitting room, leaving George and Katie alone. When Fred and Angelina emerged hours later, George could see the aura of satisfaction that enveloped Fred, the small smile playing about his lips, as he Side-Alonged with Angelina to her flat.

Two weeks later, Fred was dead, and George had to learn to live without a part of him that was as vital as his heart.

Angelina was a living reminder that Fred was gone. Just as much as George himself was.

George vaguely remembered seeing Angelina at Fred's funeral. She had been standing between Alicia and Katie. _No, not really standing… Alicia and Katie were holding her up…_ George had avoided people after the funeral, mostly because he didn't want to talk to any of them, to listen to their platitudes about how sorry they were. But most of all, he hadn't wanted to see Angelina.

And he still didn't want to see Angelina.

But he needed to.

George shoved the register drawer shut with a bang. 'I'll be right back!' he shouted over his shoulder. He wrenched the door open and darted into the street, tripping over his shoelaces in his haste. 'Katie! Wait!' His head swiveled, searching for her in the crowded street. 'Katie!' He spied her in a gap between two elderly witches. 'Katie!' he bellowed, running toward her, dodging people with mixed results – avoiding some, and bumping into others. He caught up with her, his hand closing around her upper arm. 'Bloody hell, woman, you can walk fast,' he complained.

Impatiently, Katie tried to tug her arm from George's grip. 'You can't do that,' she told him. 'You can't treat people like that.'

'I know,' George sighed, letting go of Katie.

Katie began to walk again, heading in the direction of the building where lived. 'Make up your mind,' she told him over her shoulder. 'If you want to be friends with me, then that means you'll have to face things that remind you…' She stopped, and island of stillness in the teeming street. 'You can't have it both ways.' With that, she slipped through the door of the building and clattered up the stairs to her flat, biting her lip.

George stood in the street, gaping after Katie in astonishment. He slowly shook his head turned back to the shop. Ron stood in the doorway, ushering out the last customer. 'Thanks,' he told the small girl, who left clutching a large bag in one hand and the hand of her father in the other. 'We ought to have the Pygmy Puffs by Christmas,' he added with a rueful sigh. The girls adored the Pygmy Puffs. George waited for the girl and her father to clear the doorway, before he went back inside. He sat heavily on the tall stool behind the counter and picked up his quill once more.

Ron started to make a list of merchandise they needed to replace on the floor when he heard a sniffling sound come from behind him. 'All right?' he asked, without looking at George.

The sniffles ceased abruptly. 'Yeah.' George heaved a soundless sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose and checked his figures in the account book, prepared a deposit for the shop's account in Gringotts to drop off in the morning, and helped David and Sasha prepare an order for supplies they needed to prepare more merchandise. He hung his robes on their hook by the door in the back room and followed Ron to the street. He started to Apparate, but stopped mid-turn. 'Ron,' he said suddenly.

'Yeah?'

George glanced over at the building in which Katie had disappeared. 'Tell Mum I'll be along later.'

'Um… Okay…' Ron peered at George carefully. 'Are you sure you're okay?'

'I'm fine,' George said irritably. 'Just go home _now_ before Mum thinks we've been spirited off by Merlin-knows-what and sends half the Auror Department, along with MLE after us…'

'What do I tell her?' Ron stood stubbornly in the street, his arms crossed over his chest. 'She's not going to accept, "Oh, gee, Mum, George just said he'd be home later!" you know.'

George exhaled strongly through his nose. 'Tell her I have to take care of something.' George began to walk away. 'Tell her I'll be home in a few hours…' He kept walking down the street, aware of soft _pop_ of Ron's Disapparition. He stood on the stoop of the tall building that housed Katie's flat and ran a finger down the list of names. Katie's flat was on the top floor. 'Of course it is…' George muttered. He pressed a finger to the button next to her name. The door opened slightly and George slid through it, and began to hike up the four flights of stairs to Katie's door.

He knocked softly, almost tentatively. Katie pulled the door open, a look of warm welcome on her face that faded to inquiry when she saw George. 'Yes?' she asked coolly.

'When's the next time you're going to see Ang?'

Katie leaned against the doorway, contemplating George, like he was some sort of odd species in Care of Magical Creatures. 'I don't know. Next Sunday probably.'

'Where?'

'Coffee shop by King's Cross. Usually around two.'

'I'll be there,' George said shortly.

'I'll believe it when I see it,' Katie retorted.

George blinked and noticed for the first time Katie was dressed differently that she had been earlier. 'What's up with the kit?' he demanded, gesturing to the dress she wore.

'I'm meeting someone,' she sighed.

George recoiled slightly. 'Like a…' He swallowed. 'A date?'

'Yes, George. A date.'

'With a bloke?' he demanded.

'No, George, with a hippogriff. We're madly in love and as soon as the Wizengamot changes the laws we're going to run off to Gretna Green and elope.' Katie rolled her grey eyes impatiently. 'Yes, George with a bloke.'

'Who?'

'None of your damn business.' Katie started to close the door, but George's hand prevented it from shutting. 'What?'

'Who?'

Katie's eyes narrowed. 'Martin Summerby.'

George stared at Katie in astonishment before he burst out laughing. 'Summerby? The Hufflepuff?'

Katie scowled at George. 'Yes.' She made a show of checking the time on her watch. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish getting dressed…' With that she slammed the door shut in George's face.

'I'll see you Sunday!' he shouted through the firmly closed door. He couldn't swear, but he thought he could hear Katie snort on the other side. He clearly heard a chuckle come from the door on the other side of the landing. George spun around and saw an older wizard, obviously enjoying the spectacle he and Katie had made. 'What are you looking at?' he grumbled.

'You really like her, don't you?'

'Who? Her?' George gestured to Katie's door. 'No… I mean, she's like a mate…'

'Best mate?'

George started to smile, but his expression quickly shuttered. 'I don't have a best mate any more,' he murmured, as he began to run down the stairs. George burst into the street and Disapparated. He reappeared at a low gate in a quiet clearing. George vaulted over the gate and blindly stumbled to Fred's grave. Grass had started to grow over the mound of earth, reclaiming it, returning it to how it had been. Soon, even the earth would forget Fred had existed. He sank to the grass, leaning against the headstone. 'Hey, bro…' he whispered shakily, resting his head against the cool marble.

* * *

Molly paced the perimeter of the kitchen. Ron had come home for dinner, but not George. He had said that George had something to do, and would be home in a couple of hours. That had been three hours ago. 'We need to go look for him,' he told Arthur, who was sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea. 'We need to split up into pairs and go look for him.'

'Molly, think about it. He could be anywhere. We can't just start Apparating around England, showing up in random places, looking for George.'

On the first landing of the stairs, Ron, Harry, and Ginny gathered around an Extendable Ear, somber expressions on their faces. 'What happened?' Ginny whispered, spearing Ron with a look.

'I dunno,' Ron admitted. 'He tore out of the shop right at closing and came back a few minutes later. Didn't look very good.'

Harry frowned, and yanked the flesh-colored string from under the door, stuffing it into his pocket. 'Shhh. They're coming out.'

Arthur stopped at the base of the stairs. 'I know you lot are up there listening, so you might as well join us in the sitting room.'

Guiltily, they stood up and trooped down the stairs and filed into the sitting room behind Arthur. He took a seat on the sofa next to Molly. Ron dropped into an armchair, while Ginny curled up on an ottoman and Harry folded himself to the floor at her feet. 'So what do we do now?' Ron asked.

'We wait,' Arthur said simply. His hand covered Molly's and squeezed it in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. 'He can't have gone very far.'

The sound of the back door opening and closing made them jump, and George casually strolled into the sitting room. He looked pale and his eyes were suspiciously red, but he smiled tremulously. 'Is this an invitation-only party, or can anyone join?'

'Where have you been?' Molly blurted shrilly.

'I just had to go do something, Mum.' George rubbed his face tiredly. 'I'm just going to go up to bed, then. I'm all done in.' He stooped and kissed Molly on the cheek.

* * *

George stood at the entrance to King's Cross, peering at the coffee shop across the street. Katie sat at a table outside, a mug of something at her elbow as she scribbled something in a notebook. He shoved his hands in his pockets and jogged across the street. 'Hey…'

Katie looked up at him, one eyebrow rising. 'Hiya.'

'Mind if I join you?'

Katie pushed a chair out in reply and George gingerly perched on the edge of it. He sat hunched in the chair, nervously fiddling with his hair. He finger-combed it over his missing ear, then brushed it back, only to put it back over the hole. Normally, George wasn't bothered by the injury. At least not since he'd gotten used to not having an ear. Katie watched his actions in fascination. 'What are you doing?' she asked.

'Will it bother her, do you think?' George touched the side of his head. 'The ear?'

'Didn't bother her before,' Katie mused. 'Might be good to show it… You know… Because…'

'Because it makes me look different…?' George mumbled.

'Yeah…'

'George…?' Angelina's voice came from behind him.

George hastily stood up and faced the woman standing behind him. 'Ang…' His hands twitched at his side. George didn't know what to say, but Angelina looked as lonely as he felt. It felt oddly wrong to look at Angelina and not see Fred with her. _You're not the only one hurting…_ he told himself. He took a tentative step forward and pulled Angelina into a hug. 'I'm sorry…' he whispered hoarsely.

'I'm sorry, too,' she told him huskily, returning the embrace. She pulled away from George and sat in a chair next to Katie. 'I can't stay long,' Angelina began. 'I have a Portkey to catch at four.'

Katie frowned. 'Where are you going? WizzHard sending you somewhere…?'

Angelina tried to smile, but failed. 'No. I'm moving to Toronto. My mum's sister lives there.' Angelina's large dark eyes shone with unshed tears. 'I just… I can't stay here. My aunt is going to let me stay with her for a while and help me get a job.'

'Why didn't you say something before?' Katie asked, fiddling with a ballpoint pen. This had come out of nowhere.

Angelina shrugged. 'We just got an owl from my aunt saying everything was all set up for me to move Friday.'

'But it's been in the works for a while?' Katie prodded, stung. Angelina nodded. 'And you couldn't tell me?'

'I didn't know it was going to happen this quickly,' Angelina admitted. 'I'm sorry about all this… I wish I had more time, I guess.' She leaned into Katie. 'I'll be back at Christmas and for holidays to visit my mum.'

'I expect you to write,' Katie sniffed.

'Of course I will,' Angelina promised. She turned to George. 'I saw the shop the other day. Fred would be proud of you.'

George nodded, his throat suddenly too tight to speak. 'Fred wouldn't have expected any less,' he rasped. Clearing his throat, he reached across the table and squeezed Angelina's hand. 'We'll ship to Canada, if you need some laughs.'

'That would be spiffing,' Angelina said with a half-smile, using one of Fred's favorite expressions. 'Corking, even,' she added with a ghost of a laugh. She wiped a tear that appeared at the corner of her eye. 'I have to go. They need to check my luggage and paperwork at the Ministry before the Portkey leaves.' She stood up, George and Katie scrambling to their feet. Angelina embraced George tightly. 'I'm going to miss you,' she whispered.

George bent and softly brushed a kiss over her mouth. 'Me, too…'

Angelina turned to Katie, and they embraced, shoulders shaking with tears they unsuccessfully tried to suppress. After several moments, Angelina pulled away, and ran across the street into King's Cross. Katie turned to George and he pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair while she wept into his shoulder.

'Bye, Ang…' he murmured.


	16. Sunshine and Shadows

Ginny looked up from her Charms textbook, watching Harry flip through a journal on potion-making. She had never seen him tackle studying with such fervor before. Not even his O.W.L. year. 'Why do you study potions so much now?' she asked idly, turning a page.

Harry didn't look up from the notes he was making. 'Need it for work. It was my weakest subject in school,' he said. He looked up at Ginny with an expression she couldn't read. 'But not entirely my fault.' His head bent back to his work once more. 'Nor his,' he added so softly, Ginny wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

'Of course it was his,' Ginny snorted. 'I've looked through some of those books you've been studying,' she told him. 'He never taught us half of what's in there.' Ginny rummaged through the pile of books next to Harry. She picked up the smallest one Harry consulted the most and leafed through it. 'Most of this should have been taught to us our first two years.'

Harry remained conspicuously silent. It struck Ginny as odd, since he'd always used any excuse to make a negative comment about Snape.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. 'That's the first time I've ever seen you  _ not _ say anything negative about him,' she observed.

Harry hitched a shoulder in reply. 'People can change,' he said diffidently.

'And you think he did?'

'I know he did.' Harry closed the journal and tossed it toward his old schoolbag. He got to his feet and set off down the garden, wishing the die-hard reporters who still camped outside the Weasleys' fence would go away. He'd give anything to go on a nice long walk, without having to Apparate to another county or even just to go to the village or Diagon Alley without people staring at him.

'How do you know?' Ginny said, slightly breathless. She'd had to run to catch up with him.

Harry came to a stop in the middle of the paddock. 'I told you he gave me his memories, right?'

'Yeah. You said he'd helped you last year.'

Harry tipped his head back to study the cloud formations overhead. 'I saw everything. From the day he met my mum, until right before he brought Gryffindor's sword to me.' Harry turned abruptly and headed for the relative sanctuary of the hammock. 'Do you think we get Sorted too early?' he asked suddenly.

Ginny trailed after him, bewildered. 'Sorry. Say again?'

'None of us are the same person we were when we got there,' Harry mused, perching in the hammock gingerly.

'Of course not,' Ginny argued. 'We're older, more mature.'

'Well, yes,' Harry agreed. 'But does it know who we really are, or where we're going to end up?' He leaned back in the hammock, watching the shadows and light through the leaves overhead. 'Take Pettigrew, for example…'

'Who is that?' Ginny interrupted. 'The name sounds familiar.'

Harry shrugged. 'He was –  _ was _ – one of my parents' friends. When they went into hiding, he was their Secret-Keeper. So he told Riddle where to find them.' Harry laughed a bitter, ironic laugh. 'He was Sorted into Gryffindor. And Snape, who was Sorted into Slytherin… Snape is the reason I'm alive and wasn't killed years ago.'

'Sorting doesn't define who you are,' Ginny countered.

'Maybe,' Harry conceded. 'But how do we know it doesn't set you on a path for the rest of your life when you're only eleven? Doesn't seem fair, somehow…'

Ginny's brows knit in a frown. 'I think you're going to have to start at the beginning with this one.'

Harry sighed and pulled his glasses off, sliding them into the pocket of his shirt. 'Snape and my mum knew each other. When they were younger. Before they even started school. They lived in the same village.'

'Really?'

Harry drew a deep breath. 'Yeah. They were friends, too.'

'Didn't see that one coming,' Ginny muttered.

Harry rubbed his forehead with a shaking hand. 'Me, either.' He rubbed the cuff of his shirt sleeve over his face. 'She – Mum – she defended him to the other Gryffindors when they questioned their friendship. Until the day they weren't friends anymore.'

'What happened?' Ginny asked quietly.

Harry blew out a shaky breath. 'He called her a –' Harry swallowed hard. He hated thinking the word, much less saying it. 'Mudblood,' he said tightly.

'Why would he say something like that if they were friends?'

'Well, Dad and Sirius liked to wind him up. And after the Defense O.W.L., Dad started harassing him, and when Mum tried to play interference, Snape turned on her,' Harry sighed. 'I can almost understand why he did that,' he confessed reluctantly. Harry's eyes closed against the bright sunshine. Humiliation often made people lash out in anger, and he'd seen Ron do it far too many times when they were younger to mistake Snape's reaction to Lily trying to defend him for anything else. He shook himself a little. 'He tried to apologize later, but at that point, it was too late. Mum got tired of defending him, and he was already on his way to become a Death Eater.'

'What on earth would make him think she would accept his apology after all that?'

Harry shifted a little in discomfort. 'He was…' Harry coughed and blushed. 'He was in love with her,' he said in a rush. Thinking of Snape actually loving someone in the way he loved Ginny made him wince with unease.

'Okay, that's awkward,' Ginny commented.

'Just a little…' Harry carefully turned on his side. 'You know how my Patronus is a stag, like my Dad's Animagus form?' Ginny nodded. 'Snape's was a doe. Just like Mum's.' Harry felt his eyes begin to inexplicably sting. 'Until he died,' he said, with a hitch to his voice.

'Did your mum know?' Ginny asked hesitantly.

'I don't know. I don't think so.' Harry reached up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind Ginny's ear. 'I'm not sure it would have mattered to her, after…'

'Did she…?' Ginny let a small shrug of her shoulder complete the thought.

Harry tilted his head to watch the shadows again. He slowly inhaled. 'Maybe. She might have, but when he started associating with Death Eaters, I think she might have begun to wonder if he would ever be able to really love her.' Harry rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. 'He tried to trade Dad and me for her,' he added, almost conversationally.

'When?'

'Before they died. He tried to get Riddle to spare her life, if he gave him Dad and me.' Harry's mouth tipped up in a crooked grin. 'Luckily for me, Riddle told him she was unworthy of Snape's attentions.'

'Not so lucky for Riddle was it?' Ginny said in an attempt to inject a little levity into the conversation.

Harry's mouth twitched. 'No, it wasn't. Not in the end, anyway.'

Ginny was silent for several moments, digesting what Harry had told her. 'You said last month that you asked McGonagall to include him in the memorial service,' she began cautiously.

'Yes…'

'Why?' Ginny repositioned herself in the hammock so she and Harry lay facing each other, noses almost, but not quite, touching. 'He murdered Dumbledore,' she said bluntly.

'No, he didn't,' Harry corrected, almost coldly.

'And you know this for a fact?' Ginny retorted skeptically.

'It was part of the memories he gave me,' Harry returned. 'It was supposed to be Malfoy. Riddle forced Malfoy to take his father's place as a Death Eater, and assigned him to kill Dumbledore.'

'So you  _ were _ right,' Ginny exclaimed.

'Yeah. Not that I feel good about it,' Harry added, 'but Riddle knew Malfoy was going to fail. And his parents had to sit there for a whole year and watch and wait, knowing what would happen to Malfoy when he did fail.' He lowered his face to Ginny's and rested his forehead against hers. 'I actually felt sorry for them,' he confessed in a tone of near surprise.

'That's because you're capable of empathy,' Ginny said. 'I overheard you once asking what set you apart from  _ him _ .' She snorted. 'The fact that you even had to  _ ask _ that should have told you.'

'Well, I realize that  _ now _ ,' Harry told her testily. 'Dumbledore knew Malfoy was going to fail, so he asked Snape to do the honors,' he said ironically. 'Actually,' he added reflectively, 'it wasn't so much asking Snape to murder him as it was asking him to hasten the inevitable.'

'His hand?' Ginny guessed.

'Exactly,' Harry said with a nod. 'It was a curse that was going to kill him shortly anyway.' He heaved a long, slow sigh. 'It helped maintain Snape's cover, at least. Dumbledore told Snape it was to protect Malfoy. To keep from damaging his soul.' A line appeared between Harry's eyebrows. Pensively he said in a low voice, 'I wonder if it helped at all.'

'What do you mean by "damaging his soul"?' Ginny asked nervously.

'When you murder someone, it tears your soul into pieces,' Harry told her.

Ginny's eyes opened wide as a hazy memory of the morning after the battle flashed through her mind.  _ Molly dueling Bellatrix. A flash of green light from Molly's wand. Green light striking Bellatrix over her heart. Bellatrix falling over dead. _ 'Mum!' she whispered.

'No,' Harry said forcefully. 'No.'

'But I  _ saw _ her. I saw her kill Bellatrix Lestrange!' Ginny's voice rose in near-hysteria.

'No,' Harry repeated. His brow furrowed as he strained to remember the memory. 'Dumbledore said it was up to that person to know their own soul, and if Snape thought helping him avoid a long, messy death would damage him…'

'So?' Ginny challenged.

'So it's the intent,' Harry breathed, as it dawned on him. 'If Malfoy did it, it would be murder,' he said slowly, thinking aloud. 'If Snape did it, he'd still be killing Dumbledore, but not out of malice.' He sat up rapidly, making the hammock rock wildly. 'Your mum,' he said, his voice tight with tension. 'Molly did it to protect you. To defend you… See? It's completely different.'

'You were there,' Ginny told him. 'You were there, and you saw her. You had to have heard her. The entire Great Hall heard her. If she'd stopped at "Not my daughter!" you could say it was defense. I rather think the "you bitch" might have descended into malice,' she pointed out.

'I don't believe that,' Harry said. 'I can't believe that.'

He reached down and cupped Ginny's face in his hand. Every memory of everything Molly had done for him for the last several months flooded his brain. 'I have to believe she's undamaged.'

* * *

Ginny sat on her bed, staring at her trunk, sitting at the foot. She hadn't unpacked it, nor bothered to sort through any of her things inside it since she had come home in May. She crawled to the foot of her bed, and flipped the lid back. She had packed so quickly before the Easter holiday last year that she was met with a jumble of half-folded uniforms and Muggle clothing, a welter of dirty socks and tights, and a clutter of textbooks.

She rifled through the trunk with a sigh. The train was in a week, and she didn't want to leave her packing until the last minute. Ginny began to drop her things into piles on the floor – dirty laundry over here; textbooks over there; a pile of broken quills and scraps of parchment next to the trunk. It took a depressingly long time to sort through the mess.

Once the trunk was empty, she glanced into the bottom of it, frowning at an unfamiliar piece of paper wadded into the corner. She reached into the trunk, and pulled out a crumpled photograph, smoothing away the creases. Ginny recognized Colin Creevey's handiwork. He had turned into quite a good photographer over the last few years, with an uncanny ability to take a photograph of just the right moment. Ginny's lips trembled and she pressed them together in an effort to still them. Her fingertip traced the outlines of her and Harry sitting under a tree at Hogwarts her fifth year. They had been unaware anyone was watching them, and their photographic selves were talking animatedly about something. Before exams, before that horrible night, before everything… Inhaling strongly through her nose, Ginny tucked the photograph into one of her Muggle novels.

She thought of Colin's body lying in the Great Hall, so still and small in death. It had hardly taken Neville and Oliver any effort at all to carry him in from the lawn.  _ It could have just as easily been me _ , she thought despondently.

Ginny picked up her textbooks and began to carefully pack them into the bottom of the trunk, attempting to still the violent shaking of her hands. The room began to spin dangerously, and Ginny dropped to the edge of the bed, bending forward to put her head between her knees.  _ Slow breaths, Gin… In… out… _

Until that moment, Ginny hadn't appreciated how close she had come to dying.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut against the waves of nausea that threatened to engulf her. Replaying the scene in her mind, she saw herself, Luna, and Hermione dueling Bellatrix in a flurry of sparks, spells whizzing through the clear morning light, crackling with heat that seemed to scorch the very air they breathed. Ginny could see the jet of green light that flew by her shoulder, her eyes following it as it passed in slow-motion.

She dove for the rubbish bin under her desk, heaving the contents of her stomach into it.

Panting, Ginny groped for one of her uniform shirts, and used it to wipe her mouth. She reached for the glass of water that stood on her night table and rinsed her mouth, spitting the mouthful of water out of the open window. Ginny picked up her wand and Vanished the contents of the rubbish bin. She sat heavily on her bed, looking with no small amount of surprise at the shirt she still held in one hand.  _ Might as well wash them _ , she thought, contemplating the pile of laundry.  _ Don't think I'm going to sleep any time soon… _

* * *

Molly's eyes flew open, peering into the darkness that pressed around her. She sat up, her head cocked to the side, listening. She heard a scraping sound come from far below, and slid out of bed, careful not to wake Arthur. Molly picked up her dressing gown from the chair where she'd thrown it earlier. She pushed her arms through the sleeves as she slid her feet into her slippers and tied the belt as she descended the stairs, her wand in one hand. Light shone under the gap of the kitchen door, and the sound of a chair grating across the floor made Molly raise her wand a little higher, as she slowly pushed the door open. 'Ginny!' she exclaimed. 'What are you doing up?'

Ginny glanced up from the pile of knickers she was painstakingly folding. 'Couldn't sleep,' she said with a shrug.

Molly eyed the stack of neatly folded skirts, jumpers, and shirts. 'So you decided to unearth your school things and wash them?'

'Better than lying there, staring at the wall.' Ginny set the stack of knickers in the basket and began to sort through the socks.

'Are you feeling all right?' Molly asked fingering a meticulously folded skirt. 'You never put this much attention to detail when you're doing laundry.'

Ginny carefully lined up the seams of a nightdress, trying to avoid looking at Molly. 'How did it feel when you killed Bellatrix Lestrange?' Ginny asked reluctantly.  _ I have to know… _ Ginny couldn't bear the thought of her mother's soul being damaged for her sake.

'Oh…' Molly sat down in a chair and peeked into the teapot on the table. She tapped it with her wand, and Summoned a cup, then poured herself a cup of tea. Molly drew out the process of adding milk to her tea as long as possible. 'Relieved,' she finally said. 'She could have killed you, or Luna, or Hermione. She could have killed me. And she would have done it, with nary a regret.' Molly took a long sip of her tea.

'Do you?' Ginny blurted.

'Do I regret it?' Molly asked. Ginny nodded. Molly traced the pattern of the grain of the wood of the tabletop with a nail. 'I don't regret doing what I had to do to protect you girls,' she admitted. 'I regret that I had to take a human life to do so.'

'I wouldn't exactly call Bellatrix human,' Ginny huffed.

Molly smiled sadly. 'Either way, if there'd been another option…' She took another steadying sip of her tea. 'Kept me awake for many nights, thinking about if I could have done something different.' Molly set the cup down. 'I didn't like doing it, and it's not something I want to ever have to do again.'

Ginny shifted in her chair, rolling a pair of socks together. 'Harry…' She bit her lip. 'Harry says murdering someone can damage your soul,' she said in a rush.

Molly speared Ginny with a hard look. 'Do you think I murdered her?' she asked calmly.

Ginny was taken aback. 'N-n-n-no,' she stammered, her cheeks flushing a dull red. 'I mean, what happens in a battle isn't the same as cold-bloodedly offing someone for the sheer joy of it, is it?'

Molly gave Ginny a wry sort of smile. 'That's what I keep telling myself.'

* * *

Ginny stood in the middle of her room, surveying the empty trunk and the pile of freshly laundered clothing and textbooks currently taking up space on her bed. With a tired sigh, began to layer the bottom of the trunk with her textbooks. Her Quidditch equipment went in next, along with a few pairs of shoes and her Potions kit. She carefully added her clothing, deliberately leaving the jeans and light jumper she'd been wearing during the battle on the end of the bed. The telescope and new broom were the last things she added, before Ginny closed the lid with a soft  _ click _ . It seemed to echo with an air of finality in the small bedroom.

Ginny's finger traced over the plate on the trunk with her initials. She really would be the only Weasley at Hogwarts this year. She didn't count last year when Ron was gone. That whole year had felt like a horrible nightmare. It felt decidedly odd to know that she would really be the only Weasley in school, after spending the previous years surrounded by brothers. It was the end of an era Ginny decided, after figuring there had been at least one Weasley at Hogwarts for sixteen years. When she was done next summer, there wouldn't be another one until one of them sent a child off to school. When she was younger, she had dreamt of standing next to Harry on the platform, while they sent off their own child to school, waving proudly as the train disappeared around the bend. But that had been a child's fantasy, and one she had abandoned after she'd gotten home from school after Dumbledore's funeral.

A soft knock on the door drew her from her reverie. She carelessly flicked her wand at the door, and it opened a small crack in invitation. 'All right?' Harry asked softly.

Ginny turned her head and nodded, wondering why Harry's thumb swiped gently over her cheek. Mortified, she felt the cool wetness of tears on her face, and stepped back, palming off the tears on her cheeks. 'Yeah. Just packing.'

'A little early, aren't you?' Harry quipped lightly, trying to lighten the mood. 'Usually don't get to packing until the day before. Or the morning of'

'Thought I'd try something new this year.' Ginny stiffly stepped aside and grabbed the stack of Muggle novels on her desk, shoved them inside her schoolbag, and set the bag on the floor next to the trunk. Harry's arms slid around her waist and she slumped back against his chest. 'Are you sure you don't want to come back?' she mumbled, looking down at the braided rag rug under their feet.

'I'm sure,' Harry said emphatically.

'It's going to be awfully lonely,' Ginny admitted in a small voice.

Harry's arms tightened around her waist. 'Luna'll be there,' he said cajolingly.

Ginny shrugged unhappily. 'Most of my friends weren't in my year,' she sighed. 'They were Hermione, Neville, Ron, you... I get on all right with Demelza, but she and I aren't taking many classes together anymore.'

'It's not like you'll never see her,' Harry argued. 'You'll see her when you're not in class, and she'll be on the team this year with you, I imagine.'

'Probably,' Ginny agreed. 'And Colin…' Ginny reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. 'I wonder if Dennis will be back,' she mused when the tickle in her throat abated.

'You think he wouldn't come back?' Harry said in surprise. 'He'd want to finish school, don't you think?'

'You're not. Ron's not. Hermione's not, but since she's still in Australia, I guess we don't really know for sure…' Ginny pointed out. 'Most of your year opted to not come back and take the N.E.W.T. year over.'

'That's a little different. Dennis is only in his fifth year. He needs to go back. Ron, Hermione and me…' Harry shrugged. 'It would just be a bit weird. And for the others, too.' He let his chin rest on Ginny's shoulder. 'What's really bothering you, Gin?'

'I've never really gone up alone.' She shook her head. 'Not that I'm scared of going alone…'

'Of course not,' Harry murmured.

'It's just going to feel… weird,' she finished lamely. 'And you can't help but think about who isn't there that should be…'

Harry stood silently; almost certain Ginny wasn't just talking about students. He didn't quite know what to tell her. He gently maneuvered her so they both sat on her bed, and unconsciously, Ginny moved closer and wound a hand through Harry's as they leaned against each other. The silence that settled over them wasn't bothersome to Harry, nor Ginny. It was almost comforting in its stillness.

'I'm going to miss this,' Ginny whispered into quietude.

Harry's lips brushed over her mouth. 'So am I.'


	17. Roads Not Taken and Traveled Paths

'What's different?' Molly asked on the morning of September first, while the family gathered around the table for breakfast.

'We're not trying to get at least six children packed and out the door in time to make the train,' Arthur piped up. He smiled at Ginny fondly. 'Just one.' He winked at Molly and made a slashing motion in the air with his index finger, as if he were crossing a day off a calendar. 'Been looking forward to this moment for seventeen years.'

'Are you saying you've been waiting to get rid of me?' Ginny huffed in mock-outrage.

'That's exactly what he's saying,' George replied around a mouthful of sausage. 'Wanting to chuck the lot of us out.'  


Harry snorted into his juice as he made a show of looking around the table. 'It's worked so well,' he scoffed.

'They've only been counting the days to this moment since Bill was born,' Ron added, breaking a scone in half. 'So it's not just you.'

'That's not true,' Molly objected. 'It's just so different without all the rushing around.' Her voice caught and she took a hasty sip of her tea to cover it. 'We'll be able to make it to the platform in plenty of time.'

'How are we getting there?' Ginny asked.

'We'll Apparate to King's Cross,' Arthur said. 'One of us will take your trunk, another will take Ariel, and someone will Side-Along you.'

'Are you and Mum going to cry?' Ginny asked warily, spreading marmalade on her toast.

'Of course not,' Molly said. 'We'll be too busy popping open a bottle of champagne to celebrate that we're done with all this,' she added tartly, but the shaky smile gave away how she truly felt about this moment.

'I'll cry, Gin,' said George. 'If it'll make you feel better.'

'Oh, please. Don't.' Ginny's face wrinkled in distaste. 'Let's just keep it to a firm handshake, shall we?' She picked up her orange juice. 'No need to get all emotional about it. It's just the last year of school.' She drained the glass and pushed her chair away from the table. 'I'll just go make sure I've got everything packed.' Ginny carried her half-empty plate to the sink and set it inside.

She went to the scullery to fetch Ariel's cage and coaxed the small tawny owl into it with a few Owl Treats, then climbed the stairs up to her room. She checked her desk for quills and parchment, tucked the Muggle novel she had been reading into her schoolbag, and picked up her Quidditch captain's badge from the top of her bureau and slid it into one of the pockets of the bag. She opened her trunk and made sure a uniform was on the top so she could change on the train later. 'Gin?'

Ginny turned around, letting the lid of the trunk fall closed. 'I've got plenty of clean knickers, Mum,' she said lightly.

Molly shook her head and slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She gently hugged Ginny. 'I'm very proud of you.' She tucked a few strands of Ginny's hair behind her ear. 'You grew up when I wasn't looking.'

'Happens to everybody,' Ginny said, in an attempt to be flippant.

Molly cupped Ginny's face in her hands. 'Enjoy this. Don't neglect your studies, of course,' she added, 'but you've got so many options to choose from, Gin. And in the end, whatever it is that you choose to do after you finish school, do something that makes  _ you _ happy. Not something that you think will make your father or me happy. Or Harry.'

Ginny's eyes flew upward. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing sinister, I promise you,' Molly said gently. 'Just do what you want to do with your life, without thinking that you have to please other people. Whether it's playing professionally – and yes, I do know what Gwenog Jones has offered; she's written a few times – or joining up with Ron and George, or doing something completely different.'

Ginny fiddled with the clasp on her bag. 'Why are you telling me this?'

Molly kissed Ginny's forehead before answering. 'Because, Ginevra, you are  _ my _ daughter, and you won't be happy doing something you don't like.' Molly smiled tremulously at Ginny and ran a hand over Ginny's hair before she left the room.

* * *

Ginny took her trunk from Arthur and lugged it onto the train. For once, they were so early; she had her pick of compartments. She chose one halfway down the train and with her father's help, hefted it up onto the rack overhead, tossing her schoolbag onto one of the seats. Molly passed the cage containing Ariel through the compartment door, and Ginny slid the cage on the rack next to her trunk, wedging securely so it wouldn't fall.

She looked around the compartment. She was the only Weasley on the train. She couldn't really count last year, when she had been on the train without any of her brothers. Last year had been so far from normal, it might as well have been in a different time zone, much less a different country. Ginny would have liked to pretend those months at school had never happened. Sometimes, it was like they had happened to someone else, because while Ginny recognized the person in the mirror, she wasn't quite sure she recognized the person that lived inside her head.

She slipped off the train, back to the platform and ran smack into Neville. 'Neville!' she exclaimed in genuine pleasure. 'Are you going back?'

Neville shook his head. 'No. The only N.E.W.T. I cared about was Herbology and Professor McGonagall managed to get one of the Ministry examiners to let me take it last month.' He gestured toward a familiar person. 'Hannah's going back, though. I came to help her bring her things to the train. Her father couldn't come with her today and she can't Apparate yet.'

'When did you and Hannah become such good friends?' Ginny asked slyly.

Neville blushed. 'She's just a friend,' he insisted. 'I helped her study for Herbology sixth year before she had to leave.'

'Hey, Neville!' Ron shouted, loping across the platform, like the giddy schoolboy he could still be sometimes. He pounded Neville on the back in greeting, making the smaller boy stagger a little.

'Hi, Ron,' Neville choked, as he gasped for breath.

'Nev…' Harry came to stand next to Ginny. 'How are you?' he asked.

'I'm all right. You?'

Harry shrugged. 'Better than before,' he said simply, unwilling to say more on the crowded platform.

Neville nodded. 'Listen, I have to get to work. The greenhouse that supplies St. Mungo's let me have the morning to help Hannah get here. Would you two like to get together Saturday?'

'Sure,' Ron said gratefully. 'Be a nice change of pace. All it's been is work and home every day.' He glanced over at his shoulder at George. 'Can George come?' he asked quietly. 'He could do with a night out.'

'Yeah, sure. Leaky Cauldron at eight all right?' Neville asked.

'That's fine,' Harry said.

'I'll see you then.' Neville quickly walked to the Apparition point on the platform and Disapparated.

Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead, slightly puzzled. It was as inert as the rest of the flesh on his body. For some reason it bothered him, as used as he was to the constant itching, burning, tingling, or stabbing pains for seven years. He shook his head fingers tracing over the scar, as Ginny said her goodbyes to Ron and George in turn, promising to bring back matching Hogwarts toilet seats for everyone at Christmas, then she tugged at his hand until he followed her behind one of the enormous pillars, concealing them slightly from everyone else. 'So...' she began.

'So…?' Harry smoothed a few strands of Ginny's hair that had come loose from her neat ponytail. 'I'll write,' he promised. 'They'll get tired of seeing me at the post office.'

'You don't have to write that much,' Ginny snorted. 'Just enough to let me know you haven't dropped off the face of the earth.'

'If you say so,' Harry said, grinning a little, as he bent to kiss Ginny.

'And you'll come visit Hogsmeade weekends, and Quidditch games?' she murmured.

Harry swallowed heavily. He knew that would come up, but he'd hoped it would come up later. 'Yeah,' he said thickly.

Ginny didn't miss the slight hitch in Harry's voice. She knew how difficult it would be for him to come up to the school. 'You don't have to,' she said quickly.

Harry sighed. 'I wouldn't miss watching you lead the team for anything,' he told her. 'I want to. It'll be a nice change to be there for something good,' he added.

'We'll see about that. Who knows who I'm going to get this year? They might be all rubbish. I might have to play Seeker again because nobody else even comes close to you,' Ginny grumbled.

'It'll be all right,' Harry said, tilting her face up, so he could kiss her. They only broke apart when the train's whistle blew, signaling its eminent departure. 'Better go,' he murmured. 'Before you get left behind.'

Ginny darted around the pillar, trying to smooth her disordered hair. Harry ambled after her, glancing at Ron and George. Before either of them could comment, Harry smirked at them. 'Shut up. I won't get to see her again until the first Hogsmeade weekend next month.'

'I said nothing,' said George.

Ginny scrambled onto the train and into her compartment, throwing the window open, and leaning out, waving to Molly, Arthur, George, Ron, and Harry. Harry began to walk along the edge of the platform, running as the train gathered speed, waving at Ginny. He came to a stop at the end of the platform, his fingertips tracing the scar. It was then he realized that it wasn't merely numb, like he'd thought most of the summer. It didn't hurt at all. It was nothing more than another scar, like the others on his body.  _ It really is over… _ he thought.

Ron and George walked up to him. George slung an arm over Harry's shoulders. 'She'll be all right,' he said.

Harry traced lightly over the scar a few times, feeling some of the tension that seemed to live permanently within him dissipate. 'I know…' He let a slow, wondrous smile spread over his face.

* * *

Hannah peered through the window into the darkness. 'We must be close,' she said, a palm flattened against the window. 'It feels colder.'

Ginny stood up and clambered up to stand on the seat to reach her trunk. 'Better change.' She snaked a hand inside and pulled out the uniform she'd placed there within for easy reach. Luna flicked her wand at the door, and the window in it clouded over until it was opaque. She repeated the motion at the outside window, giving them complete privacy. 'Nice trick,' Ginny said admiringly.

'Keeps Blibbering Humdingers from watching you,' Luna said casually.

'Whatever it does, I'm just over the moon that I don't have to fight twenty other girls for a lavatory to change,' Hannah said fervently. She tugged her jumper over her head. 'Are you scared?' she asked in a low voice. 'Not of schoolwork, but…' She bit her lip, as she buttoned her skirt.

'Of what you might remember?' Ginny finished.

'Yes…' Hannah nodded, and perched on the edge of her seat to don the tights the uniform skirt demanded.

Ginny finished buttoning her shirt and picked up her jumper. 'Some,' she admitted. 'And about what's changed…' she added.

'Change isn't necessarily bad,' Luna said, muffled in her jumper. 'Change can be good. Change can make us think about things differently or do things in a way we hadn't thought we could do before.' Her head popped through the opening of her jumper, wispy hair awry.

Ginny shoved her feet into her shoes and bundled up the jeans and shirt she had worn to the platform, and stuffed them into her trunk. 'I suppose.' She pulled her cloak out and let the lid of the trunk fall with an audible  _ thump _ . She traced the rampant lion on the front of the cloak. 'I wonder who's going to be Head of Gryffindor,' she mused. 'I can't see McGonagall continuing to do that and be the Headmistress.'

'Who do you think they got to teach Defense?' Hannah mused.

'Stubby Boardman,' Luna said mistily. 'Daddy got an interview with him for the  _ Quibbler _ last week.' Ginny and Hannah bit their lips to keep from snickering.

'Maybe they got someone good, since the position's not cursed anymore,' Ginny suggested. The train slowed to a stop, the screeching of the brakes echoing around the compartment. The girls swung their cloaks over their shoulders and made their way into the corridor. Ginny noticed a glint of silver on the front of Luna's. She leaned closer to examine the badge pinned to it. 'Luna!' she exclaimed. 'When were you going to tell us you were Head Girl?'

Luna glanced down at the small badge emblazoned with an "HG". 'Oh, right,' she said dreamily. She grinned at Hannah and Ginny. 'I'm Head Girl this year.'

'That's brilliant!' Hannah said warmly.

'Thank you,' Luna said modestly, a pleased flush creeping over her cheeks. They climbed into a waiting carriage, and began the ride to the castle. 'I wonder what's for pudding.'

Ginny held her breath as the castle came into view. The last time she'd seen it was the Tuesday after the battle. While some hasty cosmetic repairs had been done to the exterior of the castle before the memorial service, she knew from Charlie and Bill's conversation during her birthday party that it was going to be a while before everything was back to normal. As the carriage passed through the gates, Ginny could tell that walls had been repaired. She could see the places in the walls that had been patched with glaringly clean new brickwork. Shattered windows had been replaced and the courtyard had new stone benches. Even the covered bridge's intricate arches gleamed from their recent restoration. 'I don't think I've ever seen so…' Ginny searched for the right word. 'Clean…' Hogwarts had always had a patina of age that suited the castle.

'Doesn't quite look right,' Hannah breathed.

The carriage lurched to a halt, and the three girls stepped into the courtyard, and walked inside, their eyes swiveling around, as they examined the Great Hall for signs of significant change. The four tables were sitting serenely under thousands of floating candles, House banners fluttering from the walls. The ceiling was still charmed to look like the sky. Over the flickering candles, Ginny could see the starry expanse of the ceiling. For some reason, it strangely relieved her that the ceiling was still functioning.

It was something that was normal.

It was a constant in the rapidly changing world around her.

For Ginny, it was a sign that perhaps – just this once – things might be peaceful in a school year.

She bid farewell to Hannah and Luna, and took her place at the Gryffindor table, trying to avoid Romilda Vane, who had done nothing but give Ginny looks of pure loathing since she started dating Harry her fifth year. Ginny waited patiently as the other students filed in, chatting with each other, their voices hushed more than usual. A few minutes after they were seated, Hagrid led the first years into the Great Hall. Ginny recognized several of them from their forays into the shop the days she had worked there. She waved at a few of them reassuringly. They smiled back with tight, nervous smiles as they waited for Flitwick to set the tall stool down in the front of the room. He stood back a bit, smiling warmly at the first years, as he unrolled a scroll. 'Adams, Timothy!' he called out. The impossibly small boy hesitantly approached the stool, face paper-white under his dark blonde fringe. Flitwick dropped the Sorting Hat on top of his head and in a moment, it shouted, 'Ravenclaw!'

Ginny applauded with the others, her eyes wandering up to the staff table. There were two new faces sitting there, one man, one woman. They had to be the new teachers. She nudged Demelza sitting next to her. 'You know them?' she asked, gesturing with her chin.

Demelza shook her head. 'Nope.' She gazed at them thoughtfully. 'Wonder which one will teach what.' She turned her attention to Ginny. 'When are tryouts?'

'Go right for the important stuff, eh?' Ginny chuckled. 'In a couple of weeks. I'll put it on the notice board.'

'Excellent.' Demelza grinned.

The last first year went to join the others at Hufflepuff's table and McGonagall stepped up to the podium. 'Welcome back to Hogwarts,' she said briskly. 'Before we begin dinner, I'd like to introduce our new Transfiguration professor, Callie Trentham. She will also take over as the Head of Gryffindor House.' A woman with dark hair and bright blue eyes waved genially to the students. 'And this,' McGonagall continued, indicated the man on her other side, 'is Michael Carter, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Professor Carter comes to us from the Salem Institute, St. Louis from the United States on the recommendation of the Minister.' A few students, who could still remember Dolores Umbridge, and Cornelius Fudge's attempts to control Hogwarts, drew their breath in sharply. McGonagall's lips twitched. 'Let me assure you, in no way has the Minister had any influence at all in  _ my _ decision to hire Professor Carter,' she added dryly.

Ginny caught Luna's eye at the Ravenclaw table and they both grinned in satisfaction.

* * *

Harry stood next to the camp bed and packed his schoolbag with all the books, journals, and magazines Shacklebolt had sent to him over the summer, along with the notebooks he'd filled with his notes. He buckled the clasp, somewhat amused to see his hands shaking. 'Ready?' Arthur asked, leaning against the doorway.

'Yeah,' Harry said nervously. He started to leave the attic, but Arthur stopped him gently.

'Son, don't you think you'll need your wand?' He pointed to the handle of Harry's wand, poking out from under the pillow on the camp bed.  


Harry flushed and turned on his heel, snatching his wand, and sliding it into his pocket. 'Probably,' he mumbled, following Arthur down the stairs.

'See you at dinner, Molly,' Arthur said, leaning down to kiss Molly's cheek.

'Don't be late,' she admonished. 'I've got a lovely dinner planned for Harry's first day.' She gently squeezed Harry's cold hand. 'Have a good day, dear.'

Harry nodded numbly. 'Thanks, Molly.' He walked next to Arthur as they picked their way through the dew-wet grass to the Apparition point.

'Don't try to learn everybody's name today,' Arthur said casually. 'You won't remember them. Worry about it when you're not so overwhelmed with information being thrown at your head. Learn the layout of the floor and where the loos are.'

Harry laughed shakily. 'The important stuff, eh?'

Arthur snorted. 'It is when you've had lunch with your Head and haven't a clue where the nearest loo is.'

'What is today going to be like?' Harry asked.

'Oh, they'll register your wand. Issue you a department badge. Like this.' Arthur pointed to a small, Knut-sized silver badge pinned to the front of his robes. 'It'll have your name and department on it.' He climbed over the stone wall. 'Make you fill out reams of paperwork.'

'Even more than what I had to do with Percy last week?'

'Mmm-hmmm. Since you'll be part of MLE, they'll have you fill out information that goes on file in St. Mungo's, things like who's allowed to see you in case you're hurt, who to notify you if you're hurt or dead.' Arthur glanced sideways at Harry, as he gulped audibly. 'Just a precaution, mind,' Arthur said easily. 'Fill out your information so you can be paid properly. You have the option of having them deposit it into your Gringotts account. They'll get you familiarized with the department, the way it works.' Arthur stopped walking. 'Normally, they'd ease you into it,' he began.

'I've already got an assignment,' Harry said shortly.

Arthur nodded. 'This isn't quite normal,' he allowed.

Harry shook his head. 'No, it's not.' He took his wand from his pocket and turned, Disapparating.

* * *

Harry perched on a chair in a small, windowless room in the Ministry and handed his wand across the table to the Ministry official, who laid it on a scale like the one at the visitor's entrance. 'Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches,' the official said, tearing off the strip of parchment that spooled out from the base of the scale, and fixing it to the file with a Sticking charm. 'Here you go.' He handed the wand back to Harry, who slid it protectively into his pocket. 'So, here are your forms for St. Mungo's, Gringotts, and the Ministry.'

Harry sighed and took the quill the official handed him, and began to patiently fill out the information they wanted to have. His name. Current address. Medical history – that one took a depressingly long time. He gave the Weasleys, Hermione, and Hagrid permission to visit him in St. Mungo's. In the event he was incapacitated, Arthur or Molly had the right to make medical decisions for him. He held the quill poised over the line that asked who the Ministry should notify in the event of his death. His chest felt tight as he wrote down the names, "Arthur and Molly Weasley".

'You'll want to duplicate that one,' the official said. Harry restrained himself from heaving a larger sigh and tapped the parchment with his wand, making another copy appear next to it. He pulled the form for Gringotts toward him, and authorized the Ministry to deposit his salary into his vault.

As he read the form, Harry's eyes widened. 'S-s-s-seven hundred Galleons?' he stammered. 'A  _ month _ ?'

'Yes. To start with. As you gain more seniority, your monthly salary will increase.'

'This can't be right,' Harry argued.

'The Minister felt it prudent to start you off with the normal trainee salary, even though you are a full Auror.'

Harry glanced up at the official. 'Do you think I'm angling for more money?' he asked neutrally.

The official shifted uncomfortably under Harry's gaze. 'No,' he conceded. 'But the Minister…'

'I know what the Minister said,' Harry interrupted. 'I asked him to treat me just like anyone else.' Harry scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. 'And that includes the salary. I just wasn't aware it was so much.'  _ Not like I really need it… _

'Of course,' the official murmured.

Harry let the tip of his wand hover over the parchment. 'Shall I duplicate this one, too?' The official nodded mutely and Harry tapped the parchment, and pushed it aside. The shortest one was the paperwork for the Ministry. It was just his contract, stating that he, Harry James Potter, would work for the Ministry of Magic, as a member of the Auror Department, for a period of no less than three years. It, too, was similar to the contract given to trainees. Harry had filled out the bulk of the paperwork the Ministry required the previous week under Percy's watchful eye.

The official took the contract, glanced over it and added his signature under Harry's as a witness. The official took out a small, silver circle and tapped it with his wand. He slid it across the table to Harry. Harry picked it up and examined it closely. "H.J. Potter" arced across the top, while "Auror" curved along the bottom. It was small enough to pin to the collar of his shirt. The official held out his hand. 'Welcome to the Ministry, Mr. Potter.'

Harry took his hand, and shook it. 'Thanks.' He rose from the chair and picked up his schoolbag, walking uncertainly into the Atrium. It looked oddly bare, since the fountain that had been damaged his fifth year hadn't been replaced, and the horrible statue Riddle had erected last autumn had been demolished mere days after the battle.

'Harry!' Shacklebolt crossed the Atrium. 'Perfect timing. I was just about to come see what was taking so long.'

'My medical history takes a rather long time to fill out,' Harry said ruefully. 'It's a little difficult to explain the episode with Gilderoy Lockhart when he removed the bones from my arm.' Shacklebolt gave Harry a questioning look. 'I'll explain some other time.'

'Ready to go up and get settled?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'As ready as I'll ever be.'


	18. To Not Rest On Laurels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'We've gotten a letter from Ginny,' Molly said, nodding toward Harry, who was reading it, his eyes darting from side to side as they traveled down the page.
> 
> 'She did what?' Harry bellowed, startling Arthur, who slopped tea down his front. 'McGonagall hired someone the bloody Ministry recommended,' he huffed indignantly. 'For Defense.'
> 
> 'You are the bloody Ministry,' George said, flicking Harry's shirt collar, making the silver pin dance in the light.

Ginny yawned and reached out with one hand to pull the curtain aside that surrounded her bed in the seventh year girls' dormitory. There were only three of them: herself, Demelza, and Shannon, a somewhat quiet girl who mostly kept to herself. Sunlight streamed through the window, and Ginny swung her feet to the floor, gasping as her bare feet hit the cold stone. Coming up to Scotland was always something of a shock to her system, after two months in Devon. She scrabbled for the slippers she'd found in her trunk the first night back, along with a note from Harry. They were adorned with a pair of long ears, button eyes, whiskers, and even a soft, embroidered pink nose. They were slightly foolish, but Ginny grinned when she slid her feet into them.

She wrapped her dressing gown around her body, and shuffled quietly across the floor to the window, careful not to wake either Demelza or Shannon. In Devon, Ginny could sleep until noon, if Molly had let her. But here, she woke at sunrise. There was something about the few moments of absolute quiet that she treasured in all the bustle of school. It was something she'd started to do her second year. She hoisted herself into the deep windowsill and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Ginny's eyes drifted shut as she took several deep breaths.

After many cups of tea, Remus had coaxed a heavily-redacted version of the events of the previous year from her when he'd noticed some of the others in her Defense class gave her a wide berth. He'd seen the way her shoulders tensed when he put them into groups to practice some of the jinxes and hexes they would need to learn and how her face had tightened when the rest of her group deliberately excluded her. He had suggested she try something like this. To take the time to put that day, and any other day behind her.

Ever since she'd gotten back Tuesday night, she'd found herself doing this much more than she'd even done last year. Ginny's eyes opened, and she looked out over the mountains, shrouded in early-morning mist, highlighted by the rising sun. Slowly exhaling one last time, Ginny slid off the windowsill and headed into the bathroom. She had a long day ahead of her. Transfiguration, Herbology, double Potions, and double Defense at the end of a seemingly endless, exhausting day.

* * *

Ron watched Harry tie the laces of his trainers. 'What's it like?'

'What?' Harry glanced at Ron over the rims of his glasses.

Ron slowly tied the shoelace of his own trainer. 'Going in there…' he clarified. 'After…' Ron cleared his throat.

Harry straightened up and slid off the camp bed. He turned around and began to make it with the rigid precision he'd learned at the Dursleys'. By the time he was done, he could have bounced a Sickle off the blanket if he'd wanted. He bent and tightly tucked the sheet under the mattress. 'Weird.' He moved around the foot to the other side and repeated the procedure. 'I walk into the Atrium, and I keep looking over my shoulder. Even though I know they've pretty much cleaned it out, you find a random piece of paper or parchment in a file somewhere, with  _ his _ signature on it. But it's not in ink. He's burned it there. Or someone is just going along their day, and all of a sudden, they remember it's someone else's birthday or anniversary, and they start to run up to their cubicle and halfway there, they realize that person's gone. And they start crying. Or if they're not crying, they're biting their lips trying not to cry.' He carefully tugged the blanket into meticulous lines. 'Sometimes, you find one of their bloody leaflets tucked in a drawer somewhere. And the past few days, I get to sit in one meeting after another, discussing trial dates and trying to locate enough members of the Wizangamot in order to have the damn things in the first place.' Harry snatched up his pillow and began to fluff it with unnecessary force. 'And then, there's Snape…' He dropped the pillow back on the bed, and smoothed the creases from the pillowcase. 'They want to try him posthumously.'

Ron frowned. 'Can they do that?'

Harry laughed bitterly. 'I suppose they can. They can do whatever they want, no?' He picked up his wand and shoved it into his pocket.

Ron quietly tied the shoelace of the other trainer before he said, 'What are you going to do?'

Harry moodily slid his wand into his pocket. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'It's complicated.' He left the attic and clattered down the stairs for breakfast, leaving Ron alone.

Not for the first time, Ron wondered what exactly it was that Harry had seen in Snape's memories. He'd been remarkably silent about it. Ron found that to be highly unusual – Harry didn't usually let a chance to disparage Snape go by. For some reason, Ron felt hurt that Harry hadn't confided in him.  _ I wonder if he said anything to Ginny… _ He might have. The two of them had been awfully tight before Ginny went back to school, spending most of their free time together. While Ron had been relieved they had managed to pick up the pieces of their relationship, he felt more than a little jealous that Harry turned to Ginny more and more. Harry was  _ his _ best mate. It felt like he was slipping through Ron's fingertips.

George Apparated in the middle of Ron's room with a loud  _ crack _ . 'You feel all right?' he asked, pressing his palm to Ron's forehead. 'Not running a fever…'

Ron blinked. 'I'm fine.'

'You're about to miss breakfast.'

Ron got to his feet and jabbed his wand at the messy bed. The bedding straightened, and put itself more-or-less to rights. 'Don't know why I do that,' he sighed. 'Mum's just going to redo it anyway after we go to work.'

George glanced around the room. He rarely came up here. 'When did you get rid of the Cannons' stuff?'

Ron shrugged. 'A few weeks ago.'

George's mouth dropped open. 'You stopped supporting the Cannons?'

Ron grinned. 'Never!' He pointed to the poster that still hung on the wall. 'Just thought it was time to grow up a little. Can't live in an orange room for the rest of my life.'

'Who are you?' George asked suspiciously. 'Did you hit your head last year?'

Ron swallowed. 'No,' he said thickly. He started to trudge down the stairs to the kitchen, the weeks he spent at Bill's playing through his head.  _ I wouldn't call it getting literally hit on the head. _ He had spent most of that time castigating himself for leaving Harry and Hermione, finally aware that his temper had gotten him into more trouble than he thought he could ever recover. He'd been shocked when Harry instantly forgave him and even more so when Hermione had as well, albeit more grudgingly than Harry. He shook his head and walked into the warm kitchen, redolent of the aromas of his childhood. Of porridge, eggs, bacon, sausages, and the scents of cinnamon that seemed to constantly hover under everything else, as if Molly constantly baked apple or pumpkin pies.

'We've gotten a letter from Ginny,' Molly said, nodding toward Harry, who was reading it, his eyes darting from side to side as they traveled down the page.

'She did what?' Harry bellowed, startling Arthur, who slopped tea down his front. 'McGonagall hired someone the bloody Ministry recommended,' he huffed indignantly. 'For Defense.'

'You  _ are _ the bloody Ministry,' George said, flicking Harry's shirt collar, making the silver pin dance in the light.

'Not when she did this,' Harry said, brandishing the letter.

'Lemme see that,' George muttered, snatching the parchment from Harry's fingers.

'When I'm done,' Harry retorted, pulling it back. 'She hasn't had a class with him yet. Double Defense on Monday and Friday.' He looked up, frowning. 'She's got him today.'

'Who is it?' Ron asked curiously, piling his plate with eggs and sausages.

'Some Yank,' Harry muttered. 'Gin says McGonagall told them Tuesday night she hired him on his own merits. Not because Kingsley told her to.'

Ron craned his head to the side and skimmed the letter. 'Gin seems satisfied with that.'

'I still don't like it,' Harry grumbled. Delores Umbridge was on the list he'd received by owl last night of cases that would be under review that day. He deeply distrusted any sort of Ministry involvement in the day-to-day operations of Hogwarts.

'Give him a chance Harry,' Arthur admonished. 'Not everyone's like… well… you know.' He refilled his cup with tea. 'And McGonagall's not likely to just roll over and do whatever the Ministry says.'

'I know,' Harry said, slightly stung. Arthur's mild rejoinders smarted worse than any verbal rap on the head Molly could give.

'Makes sense for them to go overseas like that,' Molly said, handing Arthur the milk. 'Percy said they were having a terrible time getting anyone for the job.'

'Where's he from?' George asked, spreading jam on his toast.

Harry glanced down at the letter. 'Some place called Salem Institute in St. Louis.' His brow furrowed in bemusement. 'I thought Salem Institute was outside of Boston?'

'North of it,' Arthur supplied. 'Not too far away, though.'

Harry frowned down at the letter. He would be the first to admit that he didn't know much about other wizarding schools, but this sounded awfully suspect to him.

* * *

Ginny trudged into the Defense classroom, dumping her bag on the floor next to a desk. She was exhausted, and she'd only been in class for three days. Nobody in Gryffindor had anything bad to say about Professor Carter. Dennis Creevey, who'd had him Wednesday, was noncommittal about him. So were Ritchie Coote and Jack Sloper. Considering their Defense education had been somewhat spotty prior to this year, Ginny couldn't blame them. She wasn't sure what to expect after Lockhart, the Mad-Eye imposter, Umbridge, Snape, and Amycus Carrow. Remus' class had been the only class that went as it should have. And that had been five years ago.

Hannah slid into the seat next to Ginny. 'What do you think? More like Lupin or Umbitch?'

Ginny shook her head. 'No idea. I'm hoping he falls on the Lupin end of the spectrum.'

'Yeah. Me, too.'

The room bustled with seventh year students. It was a little more crowded than it should have been. A number of students were last year's seventh years who had decided to come back and repeat the year. Most of them whispered amongst themselves about the mysterious new professor.

The buzz abated when the door that led to the office opened and a man of medium build emerged. Ginny's head tilted to the side as she watched him walk to the desk and pull out a sheet of parchment with a class roster. There wasn't anything distinguishing about his appearance. He wasn't colorless by any stretch of the imagination, but he could have easily blended into the background anywhere he chose. It was an interesting characteristic for a teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts to have. She gasped as Hannah dug an elbow into her ribs. 'What?' she hissed. Hannah jerked her head toward the front of the room. Ginny's head whipped around and Professor Carter stood in front of his desk, the roster in hand, gazing at Ginny with a raised eyebrow.

'Miss Weasley, I presume?' he asked.

Ginny flushed and nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

Carter made a small mark on the roster and set it aside. 'So, I've spoken to Professor McGonagall,' he began in his curiously flat voice that held a hint of a drawl.

Luna's hand drifted up. 'Professor?'

'Yes?'

'I looked up the Salem Institute in the library Wednesday, in  _ Wizarding Schools of the Western World _ , and it said there are four schools under the name of Salem Institute.' Luna folded her hands on the desk in front of her, and waited expectantly.

Carter perched on the edge of his desk. 'Fair point, Miss Lovegood. There are actually five, though. Your book's a bit out of date.' The corner of his mouth tipped up slightly. 'What else did it say?'

'That the first Salem Institute was established in 1632,' Luna continued. 'And the Minister of Magic in the American colonies didn't want to draw attention to the area because of the Salem witch trials in 1692, so he drew up a charter to have branches of Salem opened elsewhere in the colonies.'

'Exactly. And later, as the population of the colonies, and later the United States, grew, it was prudent to have more than one location. There are far too many students to keep in one place, like you do here.' Carter picked up a piece of parchment and consulted it. 'As I was saying…' Another hand slowly rose into the air. 'Yes?'

'Where are the other schools?' Zacharias Smith asked.

Carter sighed. 'If I tell you, will you stop askin' me questions about my credentials?' Fifteen heads nodded and he dropped the parchment on the desk. 'Fine. Salem, obviously. Roanoke, Virginia; St. Louis, Missouri; San Francisco, California; and Devils Lake, North Dakota. I went to the school in Roanoke, trained as an Auror with the American Ministry and worked in their offices in Manhattan for five years, then transferred to Chicago for seven years, and spent the last ten years teachin' in St. Louis.'

'That's a first,' snorted a voice in the back of the room. 'A Defense teacher who's actually  _ taught _ .'

'And on that note…' Carter picked up the parchment once more. 'You've been taught most of the basic defensive magics, and quite a few of the advanced. I understand quite a few of you were part of a student organization devoted to learnin' defensive spells?' He glanced around the classroom. 'I also understand that many of you took part in the battle at the end of last year?'

'And one the year before,' Ginny said, before she could stop herself. 'And another before that.'

Carter, to his credit, just nodded a few times, although as he looked into his students' faces, he saw their eyes shutter, and their faces smooth into expressionless masks. 'So, a major part of Defense is learnin' the appropriate spells for the situation. You won't always want to use somethin' disfigurin' in a crowd, and in that situation, you'll need to make sure your aim is good. So today, we're goin' to practice aim.' He waved his wand toward the walls and several targets appeared. 'Just use somethin' basic, like a Disarming charm. The target'll record where it hits. I want y'all to try and hit it, dead in the middle. Like this.' He turned on his heel, and without saying a word, shot a Disarming charm at one of the targets. The middle changed color as the spell hit it. 'If you can do it nonverbally, go on and try that.'

Ginny felt relieved that he didn't press them about the battles or their experiences, just accepted it and moved on. She wondered if that was something in his Auror training, to leave them be, when it was obviously something they didn't want to talk about. She found an empty target on the wall and began to fire spells at it, without too much effort. Harry had been too good of a teacher her fourth year. Most of her attention was on Carter. He reminded her of Remus' attitude toward students. Calm and reassuring, he moved about the room, correcting a student's aim here and there, his light drawl deepening the more he talked. She wondered if that's how he normally sounded, when he wasn't trying to impress a roomful of seventeen and eighteen-year olds. He stopped and adjusted Luna's arm slightly to the left. Blotches of yellow decorated the right edge of the target. After a few more spells, Luna began to hit the middle of the target every few tries, instead of missing it. 'Nice work, Miss Weasley,' Carter said in her ear. 'Let's see if you can hit a movin' target.' He jabbed his wand at the target and it floated off the wall. He flicked his wand at it, and it transfigured into a human-sized mannequin. 'Anywhere in the upper torso. Chest or shoulders.' The mannequin began to float around the room. 'Oh, and try not to hit anyone else, will ya?' he added off-handedly. 'I'd hate to send someone to that hospital wing here my first week.'

* * *

George slumped on the tall stool behind the counter. He'd been unable to sleep, and finally, frustrated by his incessant tossing and turning, he had given up, scrawled a note for Ron and come to the shop. The shop didn’t open for another couple of hours, so to pass the time, he began leafing through the notebook scrawled with ideas for product ideas he and Fred starting keeping their third year. Several of the products were on the shelves, but a few had been deemed too dangerous. Out of deference to Fred's wishes – seeing as how the shop was Fred's idea – George hadn't argued too much over the inclusion of Ton-Tongue Toffee. But now… He could quietly take it off the shelves. It had never been much of a seller anyway.

George slid off the stool and meandered to the shelves where the sweets sat. A small box of toffees sat next to the piles of Snackboxes, looking forlorn and dusty. George pointed his wand at them, closed his eyes, and whispered, ' _ Evanesco _ .' He pocketed his wand and turned away from the accusingly empty space on the shelf.  _ You never liked them, you know, _ said the small voice in his head.  _ Especially since you saw how they worked _ .

He opened his eyes, and blinked. He almost didn't recognize the shop. Products were neatly categorized. Pranks in one area of the room, the Wonder Witch products by the counter. Ron had come up with the idea of putting them by the counter. If witches came with their children, when they went to the counter to pay, the Wonder Witch line would be right there. So easy to put a Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher into their purchases. Sweets categorized by what they would do. Fred had his own organizational system. It worked, but George supposed all that time Ron had spent with Hermione had finally paid off. Everything had a place. Ron argued it made it easier for him to find things. And George agreed it made things run much more smoothly.

But…

But it made him feel like with every change they made to the shop, even if it was for the better, he was burying Fred a little more every day.

Exhaling strongly through his nose, George burst into the quiet street, eager to flee the shop, even if it was for a moment. The sound of a door opening in the otherwise still street caught his ear and George watched as Martin Summerby slipped out of Katie's building and scurried toward the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, his clothing awry. George's eyes narrowed and he swallowed past the lump in his throat, before he turned and stalked back into the shop.

* * *

'I'm going to be away a bit,' Harry said as he and Ron trudged to the Apparition point, with George trailing behind them.

'For how long?' Ron asked.

'A few days. There've been some sightings of Death Eaters who managed to escape after the battle.'

'Where?' Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. 'Can't tell you.'

'Is that how it's going to be?' Ron asked. 'After everything…'

Harry bit his lip and scrambled over the stone wall to the paddock. 'Not all the time,' he allowed.

'But it has to be for this one.'

'You know I won't tell anyone,' Ron cajoled.

'I know,' Harry sighed. 'But there're a lot of them left out there. Not everyone was captured at Hogwarts. And I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you or your family because someone decided it would be fun to try and get information about where we are out of you.'

'Merlin's bollocks,' Ron growled, 'but you're paranoid!'

'Helps in my line of work, you know,' Harry said dryly.

'What are you going to tell Mum?' Ron asked. 'She'll have a litter of Kneazles.'

'I know.' Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'And I don't know…' He shook himself a little. 'Let's not talk about it, all right? Let's go meet Neville and have a few laughs, eh?'

Ron stopped, and watched Harry take a few steps. 'You'll be careful, won't you?' He swallowed. 'Ginny'll have my head if you get hurt,' he said hoarsely.

'I promise,' Harry said solemnly. 'Come on…' He turned and Disapparated with a soft  _ pop _ .

* * *

Ron sprawled sideways in a chair in one of the private rooms of the Leaky Cauldron, a pint of bitter cradled in his hands. He blearily tried to count to ten, but lost count after three. 'I's all changin'…' he muttered.

'Wha' is?' asked George.

'Ev'ry thin'.' Ron's head moved slowly from side to side. He swiped his sleeve under his nose. 'Har'y's goin' off on cases…' His face felt wet, and rubbed his shirt sleeve over his cheeks.

'Y'all right, mate?' Harry asked, leaning from his seat and nearly falling out of it.

'No.' Ron's shoulders hunched miserably. 'When 's it my turn?' he asked, staring into his glass. 'When 's it my turn to b' upse' abou' Fred?' He raised the glass and took a healthy swallow. 'He was my brother, too and I never got to cry. Too damn much to take care of.' He sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve again. 'An' Remus an' Tonks…' He lifted the nearly empty glass and gulped the rest of it. 'An' Hermione's not back yet… Maybe she met some bloke in Australia. Someone smarter or with more money…' He savagely bit his lip to keep from crying and set the glass on the floor next to the chair with the exquisite care of a person who'd had too much to drink, but tried to prove they were sober. Carefully, Ron swung his feet to the floor and tried to stand up.

'W'ere d'you think y're goin' y'bloody fool?' George slurred. 'Y're too damn drunk t' go anyw'ere.'

'I dunno…' Ron took two steps toward the door and crumpled to the floor.

Harry crouched over him and shook him a little. 'Think he's jus' passed out.'

'Le' 'im sleep i' off,' Neville advised, picking up Ron's head by the hair and shoving a small pillow under it.

George fell back into the cushions of the sofa where he lounged. 'Soun's like a goo' idea t'me…' In seconds, his soft snores joined Ron's.

Harry's wide eyes met Neville's over Ron's head. 'Think we drank too much?' Harry asked.

'Not nearly enough,' Neville snorted. 'We're still talkin'.'

'Righ'.' Harry tapped Ron's abandoned glass with his wand and refilled it. 'Cheers, Nev.'

* * *

Ron sat up groaning, holding his head. 'What the hell happened?' he whispered.

'Too much bitter,' Harry replied, pulling his glasses off to rub his eyes. He squinted in the direction of the table and patted blindly for the vials that sat there. 'Here…' He handed one to Ron. 'Drink that.'

''kay,' Ron mumbled, his eyes mere slits as he took the vial from Harry and yanked the cork out with his teeth. He tipped the potion down his throat, wincing at the vile taste. He waited a few minutes and the pounding inside his skull eased. He ran his tongue over his teeth. 'Blech. Feel like the inside of my mouth is coated in bubotuber pus.' He lowered his head to his drawn up knees and rested it on his folded arms.

'Yeah… Makes you wonder why people get pissed like that on a regular basis…' Harry rubbed his hands through his hair, making it stick up even more. He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.' Ron's voice was muffled by his knees.

'You said last night you didn't get to mourn Fred…'

'I did?'

'Yeah… And you said there were too many other things to take care of…' Harry paused, tracing the path of a vine in the rug under them. 'One of them was me, wasn't it?' he asked so softly, Ron had to strain to hear him.

Without lifting his head, Ron nodded. 'But it wasn't just you,' he explained. 'There was George and Ginny. And every time I thought I could just let go, something came up, and I couldn't.' Ron felt his chin tremble and pressed his lips together to prevent the tears welling up.

Harry heard Ron's voice crack a little and scooted the few feet that separated them and put an arm around Ron's shoulders. 'You can now,' he murmured. He felt Ron's shoulders under his arm begin to shake and smothered sniffles wafted from Ron's arms. Harry felt the familiar sensation of guilt well up in his stomach, as his arm tightened around Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie... I always pictured Luke Danes (aka Scott Patterson) as the model for Professor Carter when I wrote this. Just with fewer rants. 
> 
> I wrote this years ago... Maybe a year after the book Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows had been released, and years before Pottermore ever told us anything about other wizarding schools, so I was making things up. But you know what Dumbledore said about things in our heads... :)


	19. Life is not a Mausoleum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'You'll do what?' Molly stood on the landing behind Arthur.
> 
> 'Oh, well, I…' Harry twisted his fingers into a knot behind his back. 'I'll be away for a bit for work…' he said lamely. 'I'm leaving in the morning,' he coughed.
> 
> Molly pressed her lips together and, to Harry and Arthur's surprise, merely nodded and continued up the stairs.
> 
> Harry glanced at Arthur from the corner of his eye. 'Why do I feel like that's just the calm before the storm?' he murmured.
> 
> 'Because it probably is,' Arthur replied. 'I've been married to her for nearly thirty years, and I can count on one hand the number of times she's been so upset by something that drives her to speechlessness.'
> 
> 'Bugger,' Harry muttered, rubbing his temples. 'I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?'

Harry upended his schoolbag onto the bed in Bill's room, leaving a welter of books, scraps of parchment and more than one broken quill scattered across the mattress. He supposed he could have used the knapsack that slumped drunkenly in the corner of Bill's room, but it reminded him of too many things he'd rather not think about right now.

Molly had been more than a little upset that he, Ron, and George hadn't come home last night, but once she got a good look at their haggard faces, in spite of the hangover potions they'd drunk, she merely huffed something about them learning their lesson about overindulging in drink. Harry privately agreed. He could still smell it on his skin, even after he'd nearly scrubbed himself raw in the shower. The faint, musty odor of stale bitter made his stomach lurch at odd moments when the breeze coming through the open window shifted. Harry glanced out the window and frowned at the low, grey clouds on the northwestern horizon. Rain was a distinct possibility, and with it, a potentially bone-numbing chill. He contemplated the clothing on the bed. The only jumpers he had that weren't ragged were the ones that went with his school uniform. He sighed and dug through his school trunk and unearthed a couple of the dark grey Hogwarts jumpers, and spread them over the other end of the bed. Using a Severing charm, he removed the Gryffindor badge that was sewn on the front, and folded them neatly, tucking them inside the bag. His jeans followed, making Harry grimace in distaste at their condition. They were terribly frayed around the hems and the knees were closer to threadbare than he had realized. Sighing, he shoved a handful of clean socks and boxer shorts into the bag and tucked in a cake of soap he'd pilfered from the stash in the bathroom, wrapped in a facecloth and folded into a towel.

Harry didn't know how long he'd be away, but Peter Wilson, the Auror overseeing this case, had advised him to bring a few days' worth of clothing. He closed the bag and securely buckled the latch. 'Running away?' Arthur asked from the door, a cup of tea cradled in his hands.

Harry smiled. 'Not yet.' He Banished the clothing scattered on the floor back into the trunk and flicked his wand at the lid, making it shut. He picked up the bag and swung it to the floor at the foot of the bed. 'I have to go away for a few days,' he said.

'Case for work?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah. I shouldn't be gone too long, though.'

Arthur took a slow sip of his tea. 'You haven't told Molly, have you?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not yet.'

'Do you want me to tell her?'

Harry started to say yes, but found himself saying, 'No, I'll do it…'

'You'll do what?' Molly stood on the landing behind Arthur.

'Oh, well, I…' Harry twisted his fingers into a knot behind his back. 'I'll be away for a bit for work…' he said lamely. 'I'm leaving in the morning,' he coughed.

Molly pressed her lips together and, to Harry and Arthur's surprise, merely nodded and continued up the stairs.

Harry glanced at Arthur from the corner of his eye. 'Why do I feel like that's just the calm before the storm?' he murmured.

'Because it probably is,' Arthur replied. 'I've been married to her for nearly thirty years, and I can count on one hand the number of times she's been so upset by something that drives her to speechlessness.'

'Bugger,' Harry muttered, rubbing his temples. 'I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?'

Arthur gazed up the staircase and turned his attention back to Harry. 'I'd say between the morning after Ginny's birthday and the time the twins cut each other's hair. She could barely form words.' He rubbed a hand over his balding head. 'I think if she manages to shout at you in complete sentences, you're all right. It's when she goes into incoherent phrases that you've got to worry.'

'I'd better apologize, hadn't I?' Harry sighed. 'This family thing…' His hand swept around the room, encompassing the house. 'It doesn't get easier, does it?'

Arthur's eyebrow rose as he considered what Harry had just said. 'Families aren't hard, son. You just have to remember you're not on your own anymore.' He gave Harry a small shove between his shoulder blades. 'Go and talk to Molly.'

Harry gulped and nodded. He slipped up the stairs to the fourth floor, where Arthur and Molly's bedroom was. Knocking on the partially-open door, he called out softly, 'Molly?'

The door swung open of its own accord and Harry peered into the dimly-lit room. Molly was sitting in a small chair, knitting furiously, another set of needles clicking rapidly in mid-air next to her. 'Your jumpers are a disgrace,' she said tightly. 'You'll need a few new ones while you're out doing Merlin-knows-what with the Aurors.'

Harry edged into the room, and stood just inside the door, feeling for all the world like a small child who had broken a valuable vase by accident when he'd been doing something barmy, like play Quidditch indoors. 'I'm sorry,' he said to the toes of his trainers. 'I'm not really used to telling people what I'm doing.' He paused, rubbing the toe of one trainer into the rug. 'Well, not people who care about me.' He cleared his throat. 'And I didn't want you to worry.'

'You think I wouldn't worry when you didn't come home from work tomorrow?' Molly retorted tartly.

'Erm… I guess not.'

Molly sighed and put her knitting down in her lap. 'Harry, you're of age, and I don't expect you to tell me your plans every time you leave the house. And I do appreciate the need for secrecy in your job.' She resumed knitting and let a few stitches go by before she spoke again. 'Next time you have to do something like this, give me a little warning. More than the night before, mind,' she added.

Harry stood open-mouthed in the doorway. 'That's it?'

Molly grinned wryly. 'Would it make you feel better if I fussed?'

'A little…' he mumbled.

Molly's lips twitched. 'Harry James Potter! How could you not tell me you have an assignment like this?' she said, raising her voice slightly. 'I would have been worried sick about you…' Harry bit his lip in an effort to not laugh. 'Better?' Molly asked.

'Yeah.'

'Now then,' Molly began briskly. 'What time are you leaving?'

'I have to be at the Ministry at six,' Harry replied with a moue of distaste. He still didn't like to wake up early.

'I'll have a nice breakfast for you before you go then,' Molly stated decisively. 'You need to eat.' Harry started to object, but the beady-eyed look she gave him made him reconsider. He nodded left the room.

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes, slumping against the wall of the lift. He hadn't woken up this early since his birthday, but at least then he'd been able to have a kip after lunch. 'Wakey, wakey, Potter,' sneered Avery Carmichael. 'You're playing with the big boys now.' Harry ignored Avery, studiously polishing the lenses of his glasses with the hem of his shirt.

'That's enough, Carmichael,' Peter said mildly.

'But…' Avery protested.

'Enough.' Peter shot Avery a slightly menacing look. The doors to the lift opened, and Harry stepped out, followed by Avery and Peter. 'Potter, go on the training room. We'll meet you down there in a moment.' Harry's eyes darted between Avery and Peter, but he nodded and set off down the corridor. Peter's hand shot out and closed around Avery's elbow. 'Pull your head out of your arse,' he said harshly. 'He's done more than most of us in fighting Dark wizards, and you of all people are not going to begrudge him.' His grip tightened a little, and leaned forward a little, lowering his voice. 'And if it weren't for him, lad, you wouldn't be here right now, would you?'

Avery gulped and paled. He was Muggle-born. 'I guess not…' he replied faintly.

Peter nodded once and released his hold on the other man's arm. 'He will not get treated any better, nor any worse, than any first year Auror.' He studied the slightly sullen man in front of him. 'I don't hold with any of that hazing nonsense. Not for trainees, not for beginning Aurors. So whatever idea you've got forming in your head, you leave it here. If you so much as attempt to make this assignment any more miserable than it's already going to be, then I will place you on report with Gibson, and you will spend the next two months doing paperwork.'

'I thought you said he wasn't getting special treatment,' Avery retorted.

Peter smiled thinly. 'I would do that for any beginner. If they had the misfortune to be assigned to their first case with you.' With that, he strode down the corridor after Harry, ignoring Avery's gawping expression.

* * *

Harry perched on the edge of a chair in the tiny kitchen, his hands clasped between his knees. 'So how many got away from the castle?' He glanced apologetically at Peter. 'I wasn't paying attention to much of anything right after the end of the battle. And Gibson didn't tell me until Friday right before she went home, and by the time I could get out of a meeting with some of the Wizengamot, MLE, and the Minister, nobody could tell me what the details were.' He paused. 'And I didn't think it was prudent to send an owl and ask.'

Peter gave Harry a contemplative look. 'You don't trust people,' he stated bluntly, figuring the best way to deal with Harry was to be direct. 'Do you?'

Harry shrugged. 'There's not many that I'd trust straightaway,' he admitted.

Peter sketched thoughtfully in the margins of his notes. He speared Harry with a hard glare. 'You're going to have to learn to trust us.' Harry's mouth opened, but no sound emerged. 'I'm not saying you have to trust us with details about your personal life. But none of us will ever do anything to deliberately cause you harm. If you don't trust us with your life, how do you expect any of us to trust you with ours?'

Harry nodded tightly. 'I understand.'

'It's the only way we can work, Potter.'

Harry swallowed the sarcastic retort that rose to his lips, and merely replied, 'Yes, sir.'  _ If I hadn't been able to trust Ron and Hermione last year, I wouldn't be here. I do understand how that works… _ he thought mutinously, his hands knotting into fists.

'So, the details…' Peter shuffled through a few notes. 'It's Miles Nott. He was spotted outside Montrose last week.'

Harry's eyes closed, and an image of Nott in the Department of Mysteries appeared. 'Thin, almost emaciated-looking? Shorter than me with thin dark hair that looks like it needs a wash?'

Peter blinked. 'Exactly.'

'I've seen him before,' Harry said shortly.

'Right…' Peter breathed. He'd read Harry's file when Gibson had said in passing that Harry would be joining him on this case. Harry had tangled with Nott before. 'Well, the best we've been able to piece together is that he managed to slip away as the Death Eaters invaded the castle, before you and…' He trailed off uncomfortably. 'Well, you know…' He took a deep breath. 'Anyway, the few we've been able to talk to have said they saw him in the Forest, then he wasn't there during the invasion. He's been seen by Muggles shoplifting food, but before anyone can catch him, he's Disapparated.'

'Feels safer around Muggles, eh?' Harry snorted. 'That's ironic, considering he used to torture them.'

'Well, who would –'

Harry interrupted Peter. 'Who would think to look for him in a Muggle neighborhood? Everyone in magical areas would be looking for him.' Harry pulled the paperwork across the minuscule table. 'How do you know it's him?' he asked curiously.

Peter shuffled through the papers, until he unearthed a sketch. 'We got this from the police last week. It's based on witness descriptions.'

Harry pulled the paper closer. 'He looks like he's in a bad way,' he commented.

'You feel sorry for him or something?' Peter asked.

Harry shrugged a little. 'Not in the way you think.' He knew all too well what could drive one to steal food in the open like that. 'When was the last time he was seen?'

'Three weeks ago. We've narrowed down the neighborhoods where he might be.' Peter tapped a piece of parchment with his wand, and a three-dimensional map of Montrose and the surrounding area appeared. 'We think he's been hiding out here, in the abbey. It's not said to be haunted, but there have been reports of odd noises and flickering lights from the tourists.'

'So what are we going to do?'

'You're going to be with me. And I've got Carmichael with Emma Greene. She's been here since last week, gathering information.'

'O-o-o-okay…' Harry tried and failed to stifle the yawn. He hadn't slept much the previous night.

'You and I will take the overnight shift watching the abbey. If something happens, we'll investigate it. If we see him, we Stun him, and contact MLE and they'll send someone to transport him to Azkaban.' Peter gathered the rest of the paperwork and stuffed it into a folder. 'Go on into the other room and get some sleep. It's going to be a long night.'

Harry didn't argue, but stumbled into bedroom he and Peter would share with Avery and fell into one of the camp beds. He pulled his glasses off, and blinked at the pattern on the pillowcase and fell asleep.

* * *

Harry tucked his hands into the sleeves of the dark green jumper Molly had stuffed into his bag Monday morning. He was grateful for the warmth it provided. He had hoped they would have captured Nott by now, but three nights of prowling the abbey hadn't put them any closer to their goal. He repressed a sigh and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks that had taken up seemingly permanent residence in his back.

Peter caught the motion and chuckled softly. 'Never say it's like this in all those bloody brochures at the school, do they?'

'No, they don't.' Harry smiled a little. 'At least I'm not the one being chased this time,' he muttered, his eyes fixed on the large O-shaped opening on the towering transept. He began to walk toward the door that led inside the abbey.

Peter jogged to catch up with him. 'What do you think you're doing?' he hissed.

Harry stopped just outside the arched opening and pointed to the flicker of light from the Abbot's House. 'Look,' he whispered. 'You said to keep an eye out for something odd, well, there shouldn't be blue flames coming from there at this time of day, should there?'

'That could just be lights from the town,' Peter argued.

'Well, we won't know until we go look, will we?' Harry slipped through the opening, and drew his wand from his pocket.

'Potter, wait!' Peter's hand closed around Harry's arm. 'You can't just charge in there like that!'

'I don't plan on blundering into the house,' Harry snapped. He pointed his wand at the door, murmuring, ' _ Homenum revelio _ .' The door briefly glowed red then faded. 'Someone's in there.'

Peter gaped at Harry. 'Where did you learn that?'

'Last year,' Harry grunted. He turned his attention back to the house. 'Even if it's not him, at least we'll know, won't we?'

Peter hesitated. 'I'll be right behind you.'

Harry nodded shortly, and crept to the heavy wooden door.  _ Okay, think… _ He swept his wand in a small arc, thinking the incantation to open the door. To his surprise and delight, it silently swung open a little. The flickers of blue grew stronger, and Harry slowly edged toward them, keeping his back pressed against the wall. He peered around the doorway into a large room, and jabbed his wand toward the figure crouching in front of the fire.  _ Stupefy! _ The jet of red light landed squarely between the person's shoulder blades and he toppled over sideways, unconscious.

'Is it him?' Peter said softly.

'Don't know.' Harry strode to the wizard and used the toe of his battered trainer to nudge him onto his back, the light of the fire falling on his face. He met Peter's eyes, and his shoulders slumped. 'It's him.'

* * *

Harry trudged up the paddock to the Burrow, a small smile playing over his mouth. Warm lamplight fell from the kitchen windows, and he stood for a moment, watching Molly and Arthur prepare their nightly cup of tea, moving in smooth precision. It was almost like watching a ballet. He shook himself from his reverie and continued up to the house, walking into the kitchen. He found himself quickly smothered by Molly's tight hug before he even had a chance to put his bag down. Without thinking, he returned it, breathing in the scents of what he had come to associate as home. She pulled away slightly. 'Are you hungry?'

'Famished,' he replied. 'Peter Wilson is a horrible cook. He made breakfast this morning, then kept us at the Ministry completing the paperwork until ten minutes ago. Wouldn't even let us stop for dinner,' he complained.

'Go sit down,' Molly directed, flicking her wand at the cupboard. A plate floated out and landed on the table in front of him. In seconds it was filled with roast chicken, potatoes, and sprouts.

'Oh, thank you,' Harry breathed fervently, cutting into the chicken.

'Hey, when did you get back?' Ron asked, coming into the kitchen.

'Just now,' Harry replied around a mouthful of potatoes. 'Heard from Hermione again?' She had finally returned from Australia with her parents last week.

Ron shook his head. 'No. But she's supposed to come over tomorrow.'

'That's good,' Harry said, cutting a sprout in half and stuffing it into his mouth.

'Andromeda called earlier. She said if you were back by tomorrow, she'd bring Teddy over if you felt up to it.'

Harry felt a smile spread over his face. 'I'd love it.'

'She's going to leave him with you overnight,' Molly interjected. 'Said she could use a break.'

'Oh.' Harry's brow furrowed in thought. He didn't want to keep Ron awake all night with a baby. 'Can we put him in Bill's room with me?'

'That will be fine,' Molly said. She and Arthur finished their tea and went upstairs.

Harry put his fork down and looked at Ron. 'We caught Nott,' he said, without preamble. 'Did you know that only half the Death Eaters were arrested after the battle?'

Ron's face paled slightly. 'Which ones?'

Harry chewed a bite of chicken. 'The Malfoys, the Carrows, Macnair, Crabbe, and Goyle.' He swallowed. 'Nott, Avery, Rookwood, Selwynn, Urquhart, Jugson, Flint, Mulciber – they all managed to get away in the melee.'

'Where was Nott?' Ron whispered.

Harry crammed a chunk of potato into his mouth. 'Arbroath Abbey, outside Montrose.' He barked in ironic laughter. 'Hiding amongst Muggles.' He pushed a bit of chicken around the plate. 'I almost felt sorry for him,' he said. 'He was stealing food and living in a ruin.'

Ron snorted. 'Yeah, because we don't know what that's like…'

Harry nodded and quickly finished his dinner. He rose from the chair and went to the sink, washed the plate and cutlery, and put them away. 'I'm going to bed,' he said tiredly. 'If Teddy's coming tomorrow, I need all the sleep I can get.' He picked up his bag and started up the stairs. 'Hey, Ron…?'

'Yeah?'

'If you need to talk…' Harry shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Ron twisted the hem of his t-shirt. 'Thanks, mate…'

Harry continued up the stairs. 'You can thank me later. I just gave you and Hermione an entire night of privacy.'

Ron shook his head. 'I don't think that's going to happen,' he muttered. 'I don't want her to think I'm a total pig.'

Harry threw his bag into the corner of Ron's room. 'Either way, the two you can have some time alone.'

* * *

Ginny examined the students who had come out for the Gryffindor team tryouts. She sent the Beaters to one end of the field to find protective gear, while she put the prospective Chasers into groups of three. She knew most of them and tried to organize them into groups she felt wouldn't work at cross purposes with each other. She chewed the inside of her cheek, then placed Euan Abercrombie in a trio with Demelza, who worked well with anybody, and Natalie MacDonald. This was the first year either Euan or Natalie had come out for the team, and Ginny wanted to put them with someone with experience. If any one of the fifteen that had shown up could keep up with Demelza, who was nearly as driven as Ginny herself, she'd have her Chasers.

Setting the Chasers to warm up with a Quaffle a bit, Ginny trotted down to the other end of the pitch. 'All right, guys.' She flicked her wand at a mannequin, not unlike the one Carter had them use in class, sending it floating above their heads. 'I want you to take turns flying around the pitch, and try to aim the Bludger at Buster up there.'

Ritchie Coote snickered. 'Buster?'

'Yeah, because that's what happens to him when he gets hit by a Bludger,' Jimmy Peakes chimed.

'Everyone's a comedian today,' Ginny sighed. This was a position she wasn't too concerned about. Jimmy and Ritchie were fairly good players. Not on the level Fred and George had been, but Ginny had always had a suspicion they could somehow talk to each other without speaking. Only five other people, besides Ritchie and Jimmy had shown up for Beater, so it didn't take long for Ginny to see Ritchie and Jimmy were her best bets. Out of the ten attempts to hit Buster, the two of them managed to hit the mannequin eight times. The next highest score belonged to a third year who only managed five hits. Sending the Beaters into the stands, Ginny sent the five groups of Chasers into the air by twos and basically had them play against each other without Beaters, Keepers, or Seekers. She wanted to see how well the personalities would jell, or if they would clash under the relatively low-stress situation.

Natalie and Demelza worked well together, even though Natalie let the Quaffle slip from her fingers a few times. But Ginny felt that could be remedied with some intensive practice sessions before the first game. But as for Euan, Ginny refrained from throwing him off her pitch. He gasped and ducked the first time a Quaffle came his way.  _ Right _ , Ginny mentally sighed to herself.  _ I'd rather try to be Captain as a Chaser than as a Seeker, like Harry… poor sod. _ She looked down at the clipboard she carried and jotted a few notes on it.  _ Two solid options for Chaser, besides me. And a couple of those others weren't too bad. Maybe they can be Reserves… _ ' She chewed the end of the quill, thoughtfully and turned her gaze to the three students who had come out for Keeper. 'It's pretty simple,' Ginny began. 'Whoever blocks the most goals out of ten will be the Keeper, the next highest will be the Reserve. All right?' At their nods, she sent the first one up to the goalposts.

It wasn't pretty. It made Ron's worst efforts his fifth year look like international quality play. None of them managed to stop more than six goals out of the ten. One of the three only managed one, and that was because he hit it with his broom trying to get a hand on the Quaffle. Ginny ground her teeth, glaring at her notes. They could get away with somewhat average Chasers and Beaters. But they  _ needed _ a good Keeper and a good Seeker.  _ Maybe Dean can play… _ she mused. Dean Thomas had come back for his seventh year, and he'd had some experience playing Chaser her fifth year, and was quite coordinated physically, she wasn't quite sure how to approach him with it. He hadn't really talked to her much since classes had started two weeks ago.

'Um, Ginny?' Demelza muttered.

'Hmmm?'

'What about the Seekers?'

'Oh...' Ginny's eyes focused slightly as they fell on the one person who had come to try out for Seeker – Dennis Creevey. She strode purposefully to Dennis. 'Are you sure you want to do this?' she asked in a low voice.

Dennis nodded, his lips compressed into a thin line. 'It would have made Colin happy.'

Ignoring the other students around them, Ginny pulled Dennis away a bit. 'I can't let you try out if that's your only reason,' she told him, wincing at how harsh she sounded. 'You ought to try out because you  _ want _ to.'

'Ginny… I need to do this. I need to find something that Colin didn't do, so that everything I do here isn't tainted with some sort of memory of what he and I did together.' He turned his head away from Ginny, in a gesture she recognized from her brothers. 'I'm not awful at it,' he insisted, his voice cracking. 'I'm just not as good as Harry.' He rubbed the side of his hand under his nose. 'My dad, he's a Muggle, right? And for some reason, he likes this game called baseball, and it involves throwing and catching a ball. It's not as small as a Snitch, but it's not always easy to catch, all right? Anyway, he would take Colin and me out to the village green and play catch with us during the summer hols. And to make it interesting, he'd make us try to catch the ball on the run.' Dennis' voice turned slightly desperate. 'I'm even the right build for it! I'm small, light… Please…?'

'I'll need to see you fly first,' Ginny said finally, after staring at Dennis for a long while.

'Brilliant!' Dennis mounted his broom and kicked off.

Ginny took a few steps into the pitch, and shaded her eyes with one hand. Dennis had been honest with her. He wasn't nearly as good as Harry, but he could be good enough, with enough practice. 'Oi! Dennis!' she yelled. 'I'm letting out a Snitch!' She jogged to the crate in the middle of the pitch and picked up the Snitch, releasing it as soon as it was free of the crate. It zoomed off, glinting in the afternoon light.

Ginny traced the path of the Snitch with her eyes. Again, Dennis  _ had _ been honest with her. It took him a full fifteen minutes to catch the Snitch. While it wasn't a horrible margin, in some cases, it would be enough for the team to lose the game. 'Dennis! Let it go and try again!' she shouted. 'See if you can find it quicker!'

'Okay, I'll try…' he called back, his voice nearly carried away on the breeze.

Ginny had Dennis release the Snitch and find it four more times. While his times didn't necessarily get better, they didn't get worse. It was a start, at least. And it meant that Ginny wouldn't have to step in and play Seeker. Dennis landed next to her, breathless. 'How did I do?' Ginny smiled and patted him on the back. 'Not too bad,' she said.

'When are you going to announce the team?' called out one of the girls who had tried out for Chaser.

Ginny frowned and looked at the clipboard. The first game was in the middle of November. They would have to start practices soon if she was going to shape them into a team worthy of Gryffindor. 'Monday.' She looked up into the stands, and saw Dean talking with Luna.  _ It's now or never _ , she thought grimly.

Ginny hauled her bag into the library to study. If she thought her O.W.L. year had been hard, it was nothing compared to the year she was having now. Carter had set them to write a twelve inch essay on the properties of Patronus charms. That wasn't going to be a particularly difficult essay for most of the people in her class. They had all learned to do them years ago under Harry's patient guidance. But Carter wanted them to research what a corporeal Patronus form meant. He had some rather strange ideas about it, but Ginny just thought it had more to do with his being an American, since they learned things a bit differently there.

She opened her book to the chapter on Patronus charms and opened her notebook, fully intending to take notes for her essay, but found herself staring at the blank page. She picked up a quill and instead of writing down the theory that one's Patronus was an extension of one's personality began to write…

_ 13 September 1998 _

_ Dear Harry, _

_ School is all right, and I know you're concerned about Professor Carter, but really, he seems fine. The new Transfiguration professor is a lot nicer than McGonagall in class. We don't move on from something until everyone has managed to attain at least an Acceptable. It's actually nice to take our time, and really figure it out before we have to try something new. Oddly enough, the way she teaches the class, what we do in the next lesson builds on what we've just mastered, so we end up mastering the new concept faster. Nothing against McGonagall, but it makes a nice change. _

_ I had Quidditch tryouts yesterday. Can you say "disaster"? Ugh. It made my head hurt. Why, oh why, do people with no skills at all bother coming out for the team? It just makes it harder to dash their dreams to bits and tell them they didn't make the team. Because they look so hopeful at the tryout. It's not as bad as it sounds, though. Demelza and I are playing Chaser again. Do you remember Natalie MacDonald? She's a fourth year. She's kind of tall, about George's height, dark blonde hair… She's from Dundee and it's a bit hard to figure out what she's saying at first. Anyway, she's not bad as a Chaser. She's not great, but I don't think she'll lose us any games. I kept Ritchie and Jimmy on as Beaters. Nobody else even comes close to those two. For Seeker, I'm going to try Dennis Creevey. Now, don't give me that look. He was the only one who came out, and I'd much prefer to try and Captain the team as a Chaser than a Seeker. It means I can concentrate on the team and not miss the Snitch, because I'm yelling at the Chasers or Beaters. Besides, he's not unfortunate at the position. Better than some I've seen. _

_ Now, for Keeper… I, uh… I asked Dean… Do you mind? The three that tried out were so awful that I was afraid I'd have to play the position, and I've never played it before. And he was there with Luna, and I thought, "Maybe…" He said he wasn't sure, but he'd let me know by tomorrow morning at breakfast. _

_ Some days I'm not sure I can handle all this. I mean, it's not just the schoolwork, or the commitment to Quidditch. It's seeing all these things that remind me of Fred. Did you know Professor Flitwick still has their swamp in the corridor? It survived. When I saw it, I almost burst into tears, because it reminded me of the day they left. I've heard rumors that they want to turn one of the front corridors of the school into a sort of memorial for the people who died at the battle. You know… Photographs, names, dates… I already don't go down that corridor on the second floor. You know the one. Will there be any corridors left for me soon? _

_ This is going to sound horrible, but I hope they don't do it. Not until I leave at any rate. I would like to have one year of school where nothing horrible happens or be reminded of anything horrible. I mean, for the love of Merlin, is that too much to ask? _

_ I need to go do my homework. If I don't do it now, it'll be two in the morning before I get to sleep. _

Ginny's quill hung suspended over the paper. Her hand shook slightly, dripping ink over the bottom of the page.

_ I hope you're all right. I'll write again soon. _

_ Love, _

_ Ginny _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I named the Quidditch dummy after the Mythbusters dummy Buster. :)


	20. Whirlwind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione closed her book and stuffed it inside her bag. 'What did you do?'
> 
> 'Nothing.' Harry took a deep breath. 'Well, not so much nothing. I saw something odd and went to investigate without going through "proper" channels.'
> 
> Ron shrugged off the magenta robes and reached behind the curtain to hang them up. 'What does that mean in English?'
> 
> 'It means I took the lead when it should have been the senior Auror.' Harry's shoulders slumped, his ire rapidly burning itself out. 'I wrote the report with Peter. He said that I saw something he missed and insisted it was worth looking into. And that he supported my decision to see what it was, provided I didn't put anyone into danger.' He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out over his ears. 'She's made it perfectly clear she doesn't think I belong there.' Hermione opened her mouth but Harry cut her off. 'And I'm not going to Kingsley over it.'

Ginny's stomach growled audibly in the library, sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room. She glanced at her watch and her eyes widened at the time. She had slept through breakfast and worked through lunch. She was about to miss dinner entirely, if she didn't get down to the Great Hall. She stuffed her books into her bag, and ran out of the library, slinging the bag over one shoulder as she pelted down the stairs. Ginny skidded into the nearly-empty Great Hall, her trainers echoing through the threads of conversation that wound through the students still eating dinner. An eerie hush fell over them, and a few people snickered, while whispers rushed down the long tables like river currents. Frowning, Ginny slid into the Gryffindor table and spooned peas onto her plate. 'What's going on?' she asked Demelza.

'Nothing,' she replied quickly. Too quickly for Ginny's taste.

'How come I don't believe you?'

Demelza sighed and dug into her bag. 'This,' she said, holding out the Sunday paper. 'It's just rubbish from Skeeter.'

Ginny snorted. 'Then why did everybody get so quiet? It's just Skeeter. Not like she writes anything…' Her voice faded as she looked down at the paper. 'Oh… my….' she breathed. She turned the paper sideways, her head tilting in the opposite direction, gazing at the photograph. 'Hm.' She held it out a bit. 'That's… erm… ' A blush slowly rose up her cheeks. 'Had no idea Ron could do that…'

Demelza cleared her throat. 'That's not all…' She flipped the paper over, revealing the blaring headline: Golden Trio Torn Apart?

Ginny began to laugh. 'Oh, honestly…' She forked a piece of chicken to her plate.

'You really ought to read the article,' Demelza insisted.

Ginny shook her head. 'Nope. Not going to get pulled into that.' She reached for a bowl of carrots. 'It's all lies anyway.'

'How do you know?'

Ginny pulled her wand from her bag and pointed it at the paper. She whispered, ' _ Incendio _ ,' and the paper burst into flames. When nothing was left but a pile of smoldering ash, she turned to Demelza. 'One, it's Rita bloody Skeeter. Two, I know how Harry feels about Hermione, and vice versa. Three, I know why Hermione went to Australia alone. Most people aren't going to believe that article.' She glanced around the Great Hall. 'Well, there are some who will, but Skeeter just writes stuff like that to get her name out there. She must be feeling neglected.'

'If you say so…' Demelza said doubtfully.

'I do.' Ginny speared a carrot with her fork. 'It's not the first time she's printed rubbish about Harry or Hermione. And it's not the first time she's been dead wrong.' She pushed a carrot around her plate. 'Besides, I have bigger things to worry about. If Dean doesn't come on as Keeper, I've got to try and find someone to do it, otherwise I'm going to have to do it, and I really don't want to do it.'

Demelza reached for a piece of apple tart. 'Why not?'

Ginny chuckled. 'Too much pressure.'

Demelza choked on an apple. 'Playing Seeker isn't enough?'

'You can catch the Snitch and still lose,' Ginny pointed out. 'Remember the World Cup before our third year between Ireland and Bulgaria?'

'Yeah…'

'Ireland won, even though the Bulgarian Seeker caught the Snitch,' Ginny said shrugging. 'If you let enough Quaffles through, anything can happen.' Ginny began to cut her chicken. 'Besides, it helps if you're somewhat taller. I don't have the reach for it.'

Demelza tried to visualize the other Gryffindor students. 'What about Connor?' Connor was one of the boys in their year. He was somewhat shy and reticent, rarely volunteering answers in class. He was also well over six feet tall with large, broad hands.

'Maybe… But I have a feeling he'd faint clean off his broom in front of the entire school at the first game.'

Dean slid into the bench opposite Ginny. 'Okay. I'll do it.'

Ginny's face split into a wide grin. 'You will?'

'Don't get so excited,' Dean cautioned. 'You haven't seen me yet. I did harbor fantasies of playing goaltender for a professional footie team before I came here. Even played on a recreational team during the summers until last year.'

'What's footie?' Demelza asked curiously.

'Muggle sport,' Ginny answered. 'Kick a ball around. Try to get it into a net past another player who's kind of like a Keeper.' She eyed Dean. 'Were you any good?' she asked, business-like.

'I was all right.' Dean fiddled with an empty goblet. He shot Demelza a look, casually tilting his head toward the door.

Demelza gazed at Dean for several moments, her brow furrowed. 'You all right, Dean? You got something wrong with your neck? You keep… Oh.' She hastily stood up. 'Erm. I've got to go to the library…' She all but ran from the Great Hall.

'So…' Dean picked up a jug of pumpkin juice and poured it into the goblet. He traced around the rim with one of his fingers. 'How's… How's Harry?'

'He's all right.' Ginny replied. She picked up the jug and filled her own goblet. 'Started working a couple of weeks ago.'

'I heard. Everything just falls in his lap, huh?'

Ginny's eyebrow rose slowly. 'He earned it,' she said quietly. 'You ought to know that.'

Dean had the decency to look abashed. His cheeks darkened slightly. 'I suppose.'

Ginny pushed her plate away with a sigh. 'I am sorry about how things ended…' she began.

'Don't worry about it.'

'I didn't mean to hurt you,' Ginny said softly, remembering Dean standing in the common room, clutching a shattered glass. 'It wasn't…' She cleared her throat. 'It wasn't supposed to happen like that…' She looked down at the table. 'It wasn't supposed to happen that quickly.'

'D'you love him?'

Startled, Ginny's gaze flew up to meet Dean's. 'What?'

Dean leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Ginny's. 'Do you love him?' he repeated. Ginny's eyes closed and she bit her lip. 'You don't have to, you know,' Dean stated.

'What did you say?'

'You don't have to love him because he's the hero,' Dean said calmly. With that he pushed away from the table and left the Great Hall.

* * *

Christianne Gibson set the report down on her desk and glared at Harry. 'What were you thinking?' she demanded.

'That there was a Death Eater we needed to capture.' A muscle in Harry's jaw twitched slightly as his teeth clenched.

Gibson's lips thinned in displeasure. 'So you felt it necessary to barge into the Abbey by yourself?'

'I didn't barge into anywhere!' Harry said hotly.

'You overrode your superior,' Gibson growled.

'And I captured Nott,' Harry retorted.

'You didn't follow department protocol.'

'Does it really matter?' Harry sighed in exasperation. 'We fulfilled our mission, nobody got hurt, and we didn't even have to bring Obliviators out to modify anybody's memory. So I took the lead. What's the problem?'

'The problem, Potter, is that there are rules and procedures. And you violated half of them. You follow the senior Auror's lead, not the other way around.'

Harry bit back the angry retort and exhaled strongly through his nose.

Gibson folded her hands together on the desk. 'I did not agree with Kingsley's decision to make you a full Auror. In fact, I strongly advised him against it, without putting you through some sort of training program like the others. I know your type, Potter. You don't think the rules apply to you and you can just push them aside when they're not convenient. We've lost more than one because of arrogance like that.' She opened the file and slid the report inside. 'You may go,' she said, in clear dismissal.

Harry pushed himself to his feet and stalked out of the Head Auror's office. He made his way to his cubicle and snatched up his bag, slinging it violently over his shoulder as he went to the lifts. Level Two was deserted, as it tended to be toward the end of the day on a Friday. He punched the button of the lift, muttering under his breath. When the lift arrived, he strode into it, nodding shortly in greeting to the people already inside. As soon as the lift arrived at the Atrium, Harry went to an Apparition point and reappeared outside Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.

* * *

'You should go back to school,' Ron said, stretching his arms over his head. 'Doesn't seem right for you to be here every day…'

Hermione glanced up from the book she was reading behind the counter. 'I don't have to be here,' she replied. 'And what's that supposed to mean: "You should go back to school"?'

'Just that you ought to be doing something more… I dunno. Important, maybe?' Hermione smiled and reached for a Canary Cream. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, to Ron's utter and complete surprise. She turned into a canary, sang a few notes, then molted, shaking bright yellow feathers from her hair. Ron gaped at her for a few moments, then burst into laughter. 'I can't believe you did that!' he gasped.

'Making people laugh isn't important?' she asked archly.

'Well, no… It is… But you're supposed to do something big… Change things.' Ron picked up the clipboard with his inventory list and scribbled a few things on it. 'Not man the counter when it gets busy. You should think about going back…' he repeated softly.

'Why do you want me to go back to school so badly?' Hermione asked. 'Are you tired of my company already?'

Ron began to stammer. 'No… I mean… It's just that… I thought… School… It's important to you. And I don't think you'd be happy here with George and me.' He looked down at his list. 'I just want you to be happy, hen.'

The door slammed open, making them both jump. 'She's  _ completely _ out of order!' Harry fumed.

Ron glanced at Harry in bemusement. 'Erm… Who…?'

'Gibson,' Harry muttered, his teeth clenched. 'She's just spent the last half hour berating me for my behavior on the case last week.'

Hermione closed her book and stuffed it inside her bag. 'What did you do?'

'Nothing.' Harry took a deep breath. 'Well, not so much nothing. I saw something odd and went to investigate without going through "proper" channels.'

Ron shrugged off the magenta robes and reached behind the curtain to hang them up. 'What does that mean in English?'

'It means I took the lead when it should have been the senior Auror.' Harry's shoulders slumped, his ire rapidly burning itself out. 'I wrote the report with Peter. He said that I saw something he missed and insisted it was worth looking into. And that he supported my decision to see what it was, provided I didn't put anyone into danger.' He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out over his ears. 'She's made it perfectly clear she doesn't think I belong there.' Hermione opened her mouth but Harry cut her off. 'And I'm not going to Kingsley over it.'

'That's not what I was going to say,' protested Hermione. 'And why not?'

'Because that just proves she's right,' Ron said.

'Exactly.' Harry shifted his bag to the other shoulder. 'She already had her mind made up before I even started. 'I'm not going to give her an excuse to think Kingsley made the wrong decision about me.'

'But Harry,' Hermione began, 'she's creating something of a hostile work environment.'

'It doesn't matter,' Harry sighed. 'It's just one more thing to deal with.'

Ron slowly put his jacket on. 'What do you mean, "one more thing"?' he asked.

'It's nothing,' Harry said quietly. 'It's just normal stuff. Like Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder in my cubicle, or trick quills. Sometimes, they try to sneak some of the Snackboxes to me, but I've been looking at those for years now.' He glanced at Hermione, taken aback slightly by her indignant expression. 'They're just trying to see if I can handle it. Breaking in the newbie,' he tried to assure her. 'They'd do it even if I wasn't Harry Potter. Besides, it's a hell of a lot tamer than anything the twins ever did. These blokes are amateurs.'

'But still…'

'Leave it, Hermione,' Ron advised. 'It's what blokes do to each other. I heard Charlie once say that when he got to Romania, for the first few months, it seemed as if every day someone did something barmy, like putting dragon dung under the steps of his cabin, or replacing all the potions in his medical kit with colored sugar water.'

Hermione stared at Ron, then Harry. 'That is utterly ridiculous,' she pronounced. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Ron,' she added softly, her hand brushing against his. 'Good night, Harry.' She picked up her bag and slipped out of the shop.

When they heard the faint  _ pop _ of her Disapparition, Ron turned to Harry. 'How bad is it really?'

Harry shrugged. 'Nothing I can't handle. Like I said, just amateur stuff. And after everything I've been through, like with the Triwizard, and the year afterward, anything those idiots just out of the training program can dish out is just silly. It's not outright harassment. Yet.' He didn't tell Ron about the snide comments made in team meetings – comments made by older members, as well as younger ones of the Auror department – that questioned Harry's ability to handle the work. Harry ignored it, or tried to, in the hope that it would all go away when he could prove himself. Certainly Avery Carmichael hadn't said anything else since they returned from Montrose. 'Don't worry about it, all right?'

'All right.' Ron poked his head through the curtain. 'Oi! George, come on! I'm starving!'

'Keep your hair on!' George yelled. 'Or go home without me. I won't be long.'

Ron exchanged a glance with Harry. 'Dunno what's eating him. He's been in a right state since last week,' he murmured. 'Come on, then. Mum ought to have dinner ready soon.'

George waited for the door to close before he emerged from the back room. He peered around the edge of the front door and watched as Harry and Ron Disapparated before he waved his wand in a large arc and all the lights dimmed in the shop. He slipped out of the door, and wound his way through the throng of people scurrying home at the end of the day and made his way to Katie's building. He tipped his head back and counted the windows until he came to hers. It was aglow with light and George darted into the building before he could change his mind.

He ran up the stairs and knocked tentatively on Katie's door, ignoring the voice in his head that told him to go home. 'Yeah, hang on,' Katie called in a distracted tone. George heard her stumble over something before she yanked the door open. 'Hiya,' she said breathlessly.

'Am I interrupting something?' George made a vague gesture toward the open door.

Katie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 'Not at all. Just doing some work.' She held the door open wider. 'Want to come inside?'

'Sure…' George sidled past Katie into the small flat. 'What are you doing?' he asked looking at the row of cakes on the postage-stamp sized table.

'Testing recipes. I do a sort of review column for  _ Witch Weekly _ . I test things like recipes or products, then write up a report. We had witches send in their favorite cake recipe and narrowed it down to seven, and the winner has theirs printed at the end of the column,' she explained.

George eyed her figure, dressed in pajama bottoms and a loose t-shirt. 'How do you stay so slim if you test food?'

'I'm hardly slim,' Katie hooted. 'But I don't eat the whole thing, gumby. Just a few bites. I go run a bit, though. Or play a few pick-up games of Quidditch with a recreational league. If I didn't, I'd never fit into my trousers.' She glanced at the cakes. 'Want to help me out?'

George glanced at the cakes and grinned. 'Yeah.'

Katie Summoned another fork from the drawer in the kitchen, and handed it to George. 'After you.'

George took the fork and dropped into a chair, digging a forkful of cake from the one in front of him. He squinted dubiously at the layer of raspberry jam between layers of chocolate cake, before shoving it into his mouth. 'So… What's new?'

'Nothing much,' Katie replied, taking a bite of the same cake as George. 'Mmm. That's not bad.' She swallowed it and took another bite. 'I'm sort of seeing someone…'

'Summerby?' George made an effort not to spit the name out.

'How did you know?'

'Saw him leaving here one morning. Last week, I suppose.' George moved on to the next cake. It was luridly pink inside. 'What in Merlin's name is this?'

'Strawberry.' Katie tasted the cake. 'But you saw him…?' She nervously toyed with her fork.

George saw the movements of her hands, and shoved a bite of cake into his mouth to gain a few moments to gather his thoughts. 'It's your life, Katie.' He took another bite of the surprisingly good cake, in spite of its color. 'No judgements here.' George put the fork down. 'As long as you enjoy his company and he's not mistreating you. Then, I might have an issue with it.'

Katie poked at another cake, the frosting studded with sherbet lemons. She gave George a look. 'Ever been interested in anyone?' she asked.

'Nice way to keep it neutral,' George quipped, making a face at the overwhelming lemon flavor of the next cake. 'Went out with a few girls at school, but never really dated anyone,' he said. 'I have been interested in someone,' he admitted, keeping his gaze on the cake. 'A  _ girl _ ,' he clarified with a sideways glance at Katie. 'But we were just friends.' He shrugged. 'She wasn't interested.'

'She sounds like an idiot,' Katie sniffed.

George shook his head. 'No. She's not…' He meditatively drew the tines of the fork through the thick frosting of the lemon cake. 'I never told her. That would make  _ me _ the idiot.' He stuffed a bite into his mouth, forgetting how tart the frosting was. 'Besides, it's probably too late now.'

Seeing that she was treading on thin ice, Katie changed the subject. 'How's the shop?'

'Going great. Poor Hermione's been spending the days with us. I think she's a bit bored, but won't admit it. Ron's been trying to talk her into writing McGonagall to see if she can go back to school, but she won't do it. Insists she's fine where she is. Ron's keeping the front organized, and we spent an entire day one Saturday debating about what to keep and what to stop selling.'

'But you don't like that…?'

George sighed. 'It's not that I don't like it,' he began. 'It's just… I feel like we're pushing Fred out of the equation. I mean, the whole thing was his idea to begin with, and now it doesn't even feel the same…'

'You can't keep things the same,' Katie said gently. 'It would have changed without Ron, wouldn't it?'

'I suppose…' George said reluctantly.

'Look, George. Nobody's saying to have to forget Fred. But you do have to let him go.' Katie reached across the table, and touched the back of George's hand.

'I know…'

* * *

Ginny pushed her Charms textbook aside. She tore the end of the parchment off her notes and began to scribble a short note to Hermione.

_ 21 September 1998 _

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I was pleased to hear you got back from Australia in one piece. I have to tell you that photograph in the paper was something else. Didn't know Ron could do that – especially after being forced to watch him with Lavender two years ago. Seems he's learned some finesse. You two were quite the topic of conversation for a day or two, I tell you. Well, at least until Skeeter tried to print that rubbish about Shacklebolt. _

_ I have a question for you… _

_ It's about Harry. Well, not really about Harry, but it sort of involves him. When I was younger (and a lot more foolish, it seems…) I had a crush on the idea of him. You know that. Like he was the prince in those Muggle fairy tales Dad read to me when I was small. But it turned out the prince could be a surly git, who suffers from crushing guilt, and ended up being a real boy after all… _

_ I guess I just need to figure out if I'm still in love with the idea or the person. _

_ Or even at all… _

Ginny threw the quill on the table and crumpled up the letter, lobbing it into the fireplace. 'Bugger it,' she muttered, opening her textbook once more. It wasn't as if they were getting married next week. It could wait.

  
  



	21. Who Needs Enemies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment and struck off down the lane that would take him to the cemetery. He slipped through the kissing gate and wound his way toward his parents' graves. He tended to come a few times a month, sitting quietly in front of the headstones, studiously ignoring the small black one several feet behind him where he'd buried Snape. Harry folded himself to the ground, resting his chin on his drawn-up knees, looking for all the world like a lost child. 'You know Molly's clock?' he asked, hesitating only a little. 'They gave me a hand for my birthday. I haven't told you, because I didn't want you to think I was trying to replace you.' Harry's fingers drifted toward the laces of his trainers and he began to wrap the ends around his index finger. 'It's just nice to be part of a family. It's odd, you know. To have someone tell me I need new clothes, when before nobody really cared. Well, not that nobody really cared, but the people who should have cared didn't.

George sipped his coffee and glanced at Katie. He now met her for coffee Sunday afternoons, taking Angelina’s place after she’d moved to Toronto. He found he rather enjoyed slipping out after lunch and spending a quiet hour with Katie. 'So, how's it going with Summerby?' he asked, wincing internally.

'It's fine,' she said, shrugging.

'Does he have to stay the night so much?' George asked, a pained expression on his face.

'He stays over once or twice a week,' Katie said pointedly. 'Why does it matter to you?'

George squirmed uncomfortably. 'It doesn't,' he mumbled. 'I just don't want people to think you're…' He scratched his nose in an attempt to cover his embarrassment.

'A what?' Katie asked in amusement.

'Nothing.'

'A whore?' Katie guessed. 'Woman of loose morals?' She waved a hand in the air. 'Pfft. I'm well over age and if someone doesn't like the fact I'm having sex, then it's their problem, not mine.' She stirred milk into her coffee and glanced at George. 'Is that what you think?'

George twitched and ducked his head. 'No,' he admitted.

Katie gave George a shrewd look. 'Have you ever…?' George blushed and mutely shook his head. 'Really?' she asked in surprise.

George grimaced and pushed his coffee away. 'I saw what Fred had with Ang,' he explained. 'Kind of a hard act to follow. And I'm not interested in a shag and run type thing.' He suddenly chuckled. 'Want to hear something pathetic?'

'Sure.'

'Ron – my baby brother – Ickle Ronnikins – has been shagging his girlfriend since July.' At Katie's raised inquiring eyebrow, George elaborated, 'They came in one afternoon right before dinner, and both of them had that "I've been shagging my brains out" smirk Fred used to have…' He coughed lightly. 'And when she came over last month, she stayed the night with us. I saw Ron's room the next morning. They obviously made a night of it…' He sighed and picked up his coffee. 'And here I am. I haven't even kissed a girl since I tried to hit on Verity before we closed the shop,' he mused. 'That was total disaster,' he sighed mournfully.

Katie tapped her fingertips on the surface of the table. 'You know,' she said thoughtfully, 'there's a girl at the magazine…'

'No,' George said firmly. 'No set ups.' He swallowed nearly half the scalding liquid in his cup. 'I can find my own bird, thank you.'

'Not if you keep referring to us as birds,' Katie retorted.

'Yeah, well…' George rubbed the back of his head and leaned back in his chair. 'I'm not really interested in doing the dating thing right now…' He glanced at Katie. 'So what does Summerby think of all this?' he asked gesturing between the two of them.

Katie's cheeks burned dully and she set her cup on the table firmly. 'It's kind of a sore point,' she allowed. 'We don't talk about it. I think he's jealous of you.'

George snorted. 'Of me? Why?'

'I have no idea,' Katie sighed. 'I can go and have a drink with a group of friends from work, and that's not a problem. It's kind of odd, because there're plenty of blokes in that group.'

'Could be because you're meeting with me one-on-one, and not with other people,' George pointed out.

'Not like I haven't thought of that,' Katie sighed. 'I've even told him he could come with me here, but I think he likes to play the wounded party.'

George refrained from commenting on Summerby's maturity level. He didn't think it would help, and it was apparent Katie already felt badly about it. 'So heard from Ang lately?' he asked, changing the subject.

Katie nodded. 'Yeah. She's settling in with her aunt and her new job is working out all right. Says she's a little lonely sometimes, but it's getting better.'

'That's good.' George drained his cup and stood up. 'I need to go get some things done at the shop, and I'd rather do it now than get up and do it early tomorrow.' He gestured to the door of the coffee shop. 'I can see you home…' he said shyly. 'If you're ready to go.'

'I'm perfectly capable of getting home myself,' Katie said dryly. But she, too, stood up and pulled her wooly cardigan on, walking toward the door. She glanced at George over her shoulder. 'Well, are you coming or what?'

* * *

Ginny wiped the rain from her face, pushing the wet strands from her eyes that had escaped from her ponytail. She flew behind Demelza, clutching the Quaffle in one hand, gripping the handle of her broomstick between her knees. She glanced down and saw Natalie zoom underneath her. 'Natalie!' she yelled, dropping her free hand to the handle, and adjusting her grasp on the Quaffle. Natalie looked up and doubled back. As she passed Ginny, Ginny lobbed the Quaffle at her, and it slipped through Natalie's outstretched fingers. Stricken, Natalie pointed her broom toward the ground and caught the Quaffle before it could hit the sodden ground.

Sighing, Ginny fished the whistle from the neck of her sweatshirt and blew it shrilly, signaling for the team to land. 'I'm sorry, Ginny,' Natalie said, as soon as Ginny dismounted from her broom. 'I can do better. It just slipped through my fingers and I couldn't get a hand on it…' she babbled.

'It's fine,' Ginny said tightly. 'Come on…' She led the players back into the changing room, wringing out her soaked hair over a small sink in the corner. 'Natalie, you're not going to fall off your broom, if you take both hands off of it for ten seconds. You're going to have to trust me. If you don't start committing to the play, it's not going to work. Ritchie and Jimmy, if the two of you don't start actually  _ aiming _ those Bludgers at someone, why bother showing up? Dean, for the love of Ravenclaw, this is Quidditch, not football. You have to defend  _ three _ goals, not just one. You  _ have _ to keep circling and moving around, otherwise you're going to let in more goals than you block. Dennis, you have to do the same thing as Natalie. If you're going to play Quidditch, play the bloody game. You're so worried about messing things up; it makes you miss things even more.' Ginny dropped to the rickety chair behind a battered and scarred desk. 'Go back to the castle and get cleaned up. Practice on Thursday at six.'

Demelza cupped a hand under Natalie's elbow, urging her to stand up. 'Come on, then,' she murmured. 'Got to let it go and starting thinking about how you're going to play next practice.'

Jimmy tugged on Dennis' arm. He was slumped dejectedly against the wall. 'Let's go. It's just a practice.'

Ginny's head lifted and her eyes blazed. 'That's just it!' she raged. 'It's not "just a practice"! You practice like you're playing a real game every single time!' She pressed her lips together in a tight line. 'Just go back to the castle.' Demelza put an arm around Natalie and led her out of the changing room. Ritchie and Jimmy each wrapped a hand around one of Dennis' arms and all but dragged him from the room. Ginny lowered her head to the desk, resting it on top of her folded arms.

'Gin?' Dean touched her shoulder gently. 'The weather was lousy.'

'It doesn't matter,' she said, her voice muffled by her arms. 'We need to learn to play in all sorts of weather. It won't always be sunny and perfect.' Ginny turned her head and peeped at Dean. 'Could you just leave me alone for a bit?'

'Are you sure?' Dean asked worriedly. 'It's awfully dark out.'

Ginny sat up. 'Dean, this is why we broke up. I am of age. I can take care of myself. I  _ don't _ need a nursemaid to follow me around with a damned butterfly net. And I don't need anyone to make sure I get back to the castle in one piece!' she shouted. 'Least of all you!'

Dean stepped back involuntarily. 'I… I just want to make sure you're all right…'

'I'll be fine,' Ginny snapped, pulling her wand from a back pocket of her jeans, and waving it over her clothes and hair. Steam rose in waves, obscuring her vision momentarily. Dean still stood uncertainly next to the desk. 'Just go, all right?' Ginny hauled her bag to the desktop and began to rifle through it. She saw Dean turn and walk out of the changing room, hunching his shoulders against the rain that had begun to drizzle over them halfway through their practice session. She pulled a thick envelope of parchment from her bag and ran her thumb over the wax seal, smiling a little at the design pressed into it. The seal had been Hermione's belated birthday gift to Harry. It was a holly sprig in a triangle. Harry had explained the triangle had been a symbol that represented his Invisibility cloak, while the holly leaf was meant to represent his wand. The envelope opened at her touch and Ginny pulled a wad of folded parchment from it.

_ 15 October 1998 _

_ Dear Ginny, _

_ George gave me a bank draft today. It's my share of the profits from the shop. It's quite a bit of money. I don't  _ **_need_ ** _ it, but George won't take it back. I'd like to give it to your mum and dad, to try and repay them for everything they've done for me, but I know they won't just accept it. Maybe I could replace a few of the things that are beyond repair. You know, just sort of sneak it in when they're not looking. When they ask, say it's from George and Ron. Because it is, actually. They're the ones that do all the work. _

_ Things at the Ministry are getting back together. The other Aurors are slowly starting to leave me be, especially since the details from the Death Eater trials are leaking out. Unfortunately, it also includes the debacle in the Department of Mysteries. So everything we did is coming out, too. I'm getting a lot fewer comments about not knowing anything and more questions about what I know about the activities and methods of Death Eaters, to try and capture the ones that are still on the run. Sometimes, I have to admit to them it was nothing more than dumb luck. They're still leaving pranks in my cubicle, though. But that tends to be the younger ones. It seems like they're desperate to try and get things to be the way they were before. If it takes a fake wand or quill, or even one of those Muggle pranks, like the fake dog poo (and that was pretty funny…) then that's what it takes. _

_ I'm still not happy with my Head. But your dad says complaining about your department Head is something of a pastime in the Ministry. I can believe that. Mine is – well, she's not bad as an Auror. I guess I'm going to leave at that. She's all right, I suppose. Just a stickler for rules and regulations. A lot like Percy in that respect. _

_ Ron's trying to grow a moustache. It's not going well. He looks rather moth-eaten. And no amount of protestation from Hermione will make him shave it. It's not that he can't grow one – because he can – sort of – it's that it's somewhat patchy. George told him the other day it was a pity Ron has such a hairy arse as it must be where all his hair energies have gone. I have to agree with Hermione on this one. It makes Ron look like he's trying to look older. I guess that's what he is doing, but it looks like he's trying too hard. _

_ He's still trying to persuade Hermione to go back to school. She's unconvinced. She thinks it's too late, but maybe if she talks to Professor McGonagall… She needs to go back. _

_ I think you've been handling the team really well. If anybody can get them into shape, Gin, it's you. You know the game better than most of your brothers. I'd say better than even Charlie. No offense to Angelina, and she was a damn good player, but you're a better captain than either her or me. You get the game in a way neither of us did. I've watched you play. You could tell what was going on, even when you couldn't see it. _

_ So I'm going to give you a word of advice. You can take it, if you want. Or you can tell me to sod off. When we were doing the DA, I knew eventually we'd use those skills in a real fight, just not that soon. But I knew that if we didn't know the basics, we'd never survive one. Really, it was all about learning enough defensive magic so we could pass our exams, and not have large gaping holes in our educations. Think about a game as an exam, not a war. Make sure you  _ **_teach_ ** _ them how to the play the game, Gin. You may not win all your games, and you may not win the Cup, but if you leave the team better than how you found it, it's all right. _

_ Don't tell McGonagall I said that. She'll retroactively revoke my captaincy. I'm not sure she can do that, but I'd rather not find out. _

_ Why did you leave the journal Andromeda gave you for your birthday? I found it when I was up with Teddy last weekend. He's teething and nothing I did seemed to help, except walking with him. I got bored pacing around Bill's room, so I took Teddy for a few turns in yours. I wasn't snooping, I promise. I saw it sticking out from between your bed and desk. I checked it later. It's fine. Not that Andromeda would give you anything tainted with Dark magic. But I know how writing in a journal might make you feel a little gutted. Just wondering, that's all, Gin. _

_ I'll see you in a couple of weeks. We'll do whatever you want. Well, whatever won't get you into any trouble or lose you House points. I'd hate for that to happen on my account. _

_ Take care of yourself, Ginny. _

_ Love, _

_ Harry _

Slowly, Ginny folded the parchment, and slid it back into the envelope. She sat for a moment, leaning back in the straight-backed chair, listening to the rain fall on the roof of the changing room.

* * *

Harry took the last plate from George and dried it, reaching up over his head to put it in a cupboard. It made him laugh to himself that Molly still kept the plates in a high cupboard, away from small, mischievous hands. 'Where's Ron gone off to?' George asked.

'Over to Hermione's.'

George wrung the dishcloth out and draped it over the rim of the sink. 'Does it bother you?'

'What?' Harry shook out the tea towel he'd used to dry the dishes. 'Ron and Hermione? Not at all. They've been going that direction for years. It's about bloody time. They just had to stop bickering long enough to realize it.' Harry hung the towel over the bar near the stove and shrugged. 'He's still my best mate. That's not going to change.'

George reached into a cupboard set with a Cooling charm and handed Harry a butterbeer. 'Any plans later?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not especially. I've got Teddy.'

'You can come by Lee's do later with me,' George offered. Lee was hosting a small party at the Leaky Cauldron later for Halloween. 'Mum won't mind watching Teddy.'

Harry considered it then, replied, 'Nah, I'm all right. There is something I want to do. I'm just not sure how long it'll take. And I don't fancy asking your mum to watch Teddy more than a couple of hours.'

'You know she won't care.'

'Yeah, but Teddy's my responsibility, not your mum's, Harry responded, clearly uncomfortable with abdicating his obligation, even for the whole of an evening. Especially since he was going to be gone for a good portion of next Saturday, visiting Ginny during the Hogsmeade visit.

'Well, if you change your mind, it'll be in the second private parlor upstairs,' George told Harry. 'Probably go on quite late, knowing Lee.'

'Thanks.' Harry left the kitchen and wandered up the stairs to Bill's room, where an ancient cot stood against the opposite wall from the bed. Teddy sat inside the cot, fretfully gnawing a teether, while drool coated his chin. He whined softly when he saw Harry, and dropped the plastic ring filled with water on top of the blanket, raising his arms up to Harry. Harry lifted Teddy from the cot, settling him on one hip while he reached into the cot with his free hand, and pulled out the teether. Teddy rubbed his face against Harry's shoulder, whimpering a little. 'Shhhhh,' Harry crooned, setting the teether on the night table, and fishing his wand from his back pocket. He cast a Freezing charm over the teether and handed it back to Teddy. 'Here, chew on that for a bit. Your gran put some sort of goo in your bag for me to put on your gums before I put you down for the night. She says it'll help.' Teddy grunted, as he worried the teether between his irritated gums. 'I hope it works as well as she says it does. You were pretty cranky last week,' he informed his godson, who ignored him and continued to chew the teether with a single-minded intensity. 'Let's get you into a bath, then. And bedtime for you, little one.'

After managing to bathe Teddy, and in the process, getting a great deal of water over both himself and the bathroom floor, Harry scooped out a bit of the ointment Andromeda had packed and gently rubbed it on Teddy's reddened gums. The tense creases in Teddy's face eased as the pain slowly ebbed away. 'That feel better?' Harry asked, as he pulled a sleepsuit over Teddy's head, leaning over to rub Teddy's nose with his own. 'I hope so.' Teddy blinked sleepily and gurgled at Harry. 'All right.  _ One _ story before you go to sleep. And then I have to go do something for a bit. But I promise, I'll be back in an hour or so.' Harry picked up Teddy, and settled into the small rocking chair that had mysteriously appeared in a corner of the bedroom last month. With the cot, it made things a bit cramped, but it was all right. He picked up the battered and dog-eared copy of  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard  _ he'd found in a bookcase in the sitting room, and opened it to the first story. 'There once was a kindhearted, elderly wizard…' Harry continued to read quietly to Teddy, rocking slowly to the cadence of his words.

'Are you sure you ought to be reading something like that to a baby?' George asked, leaning against the frame of the door, giving the book a skeptical glance.

Harry shrugged. 'It's no different than the Muggle fairy tales. Those can be pretty gruesome. Amputations to remove shoes that make you dance all the time. Mermaids becoming human, but the price is the loss of her voice and it feels like she's being stabbed in the feet every time she takes a step. Princesses eating poisoned apples.'

'Yeah, I suppose. Dad gave Ginny a book of those when she was little. Mum wouldn't read them to her. Said they made her feel like she had the lurgy.'

Harry's lips turned up in a smile. 'Yeah, I can see why…' He reached over and laid the book on the night table and carefully stood up. Teddy had fallen asleep, his head lolling against Harry's shoulder. Harry pressed a kiss to the top of Teddy's head and laid him in the cot, covering him with the blanket.

'I'm on my way out to Lee's party,' George said. 'Sure you don't want to come?'

'Yeah, I'm sure.'

'Well, if you change your mind.' George clattered down the stairs, making Harry cringe a little at the noise, as he glanced in the cot at Teddy, hoping the noise didn't wake his godson. Teddy slept on, oblivious to the commotion.

Harry slipped out of the room, partially closing the door and went down into the sitting room, albeit much quieter than George had done. Molly and Arthur were ensconced in the sofa, listening to the wireless while Arthur read the  _ Daily Prophet _ and Molly worked on what looked like Ginny's Christmas jumper. 'How long does it take you to make them all?' Harry asked her curiously.

'Oh, a couple of months. I do them here and there when I can.' She glanced up from her work. 'It was much easier when you lot were at school. Didn't have to hide it all the time.'

'She used to have to do it at night when all the boys were small,' Arthur commented. 'After they'd gone to bed.'

'Hush,' Molly chided. 'You know as well as I do it was the one time the younger ones got something new.' She gave Harry a sharp glance. 'You could do with a few new things yourself,' she told him. 'Those trainers are a disgrace. And I'm not sure those jeans you've got are going to survive much longer.'

'Oh…' Harry looked down at his much-abused clothing. 'I hadn't noticed…'

'Madame Malkin's has some smart new robes in,' Molly suggested. 'Maybe you ought to pop over and have a look.'

Harry's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond, but Arthur jumped to his rescue. 'I think Harry might prefer Muggle clothing, dear,' he murmured to Molly.

'Oh, right.' She looked up at Harry. 'Hogsmeade weekend is coming up, isn't it?' she asked slyly. 'You'll want to look nice when you see Ginny.'

'I'll think about it.' Harry badly wanted to squirm in embarrassment. 'Could you keep eye on Teddy for a bit? I need to go do something. I'll be back in an hour,' he promised.

'Of course we can,' Molly said. 'Take all the time you need.'

'Thanks.' Harry darted into the scullery and grabbed his jacket against the late October chill. He ran down the length of the back garden and vaulted over the low wall that separated it from the paddock. He jogged down to the Apparition point and pulled out his wand, turning on the spot. He reappeared at the end of a lane he'd seen only a handful of times.

Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment and struck off down the lane that would take him to the cemetery. He slipped through the kissing gate and wound his way toward his parents' graves. He tended to come a few times a month, sitting quietly in front of the headstones, studiously ignoring the small black one several feet behind him where he'd buried Snape. Harry folded himself to the ground, resting his chin on his drawn-up knees, looking for all the world like a lost child. 'You know Molly's clock?' he asked, hesitating only a little. 'They gave me a hand for my birthday. I haven't told you, because I didn't want you to think I was trying to replace you.' Harry's fingers drifted toward the laces of his trainers and he began to wrap the ends around his index finger. 'It's just nice to be part of a family. It's odd, you know. To have someone tell me I need new clothes, when before nobody really cared. Well, not that nobody really cared, but the people who should have cared didn't.

'Sometimes I wish you were alive, Dad. Because I could ask you how getting married changed things with you, Sirius and Remus. Not that Ron and Hermione are getting married next week, but that's already changing. I guess it should change. It's just been the three of us for so long. Just something else to get used to. Then again, there're things I've told Ginny that I haven't told either Ron or Hermione. Guess it goes both ways, huh?' Harry smiled suddenly. 'See, this is why I like talking to you.' Harry leaned forward and briefly touched each headstone in turn. 'I'll be back soon.' He got to his feet and wandered back to the gate, brushing off the seat of his jeans. He stood indecisively in the lane, with his hands jammed in his pockets, gazing in the direction of his parents' house. Coming to a decision, he began to walk determinedly toward it. He hadn't been there since that disastrous Christmas Eve last year.  _ Why shouldn't I go see it? _ he asked himself.  _ It is my house, after all. _

As Harry approached the house, he could see two figures standing by the fence, their heads close together. Suddenly, one of them bent and began to work one of the slats off the weathered picket fence. 'Oi! What d'you think you're doing?' Harry shouted.

'Blimey!' breathed one of the figures. 'Let's go!'

'Wha' for?' the other grunted, giving the recalcitrant slat a hearty tug.

'It's Harry-bloomin'-Potter, that's why!' the first one hissed, grabbing his companion's elbow, forcing him to abandon the fence. Before Harry could say anything else, the two of them Disapparated.

Harry ran through the gate and into the garden. Large gaps in the fence that hadn't been there last December made him frown in dismay. He cautiously approached the house, and the door swung creakily on its hinges. Swallowing, Harry pushed the door open and exhaled sharply. Pieces of the banister were missing, and it seemed that pieces of furniture from the sitting room here gone, too, judging by the dark smudges in the thick dust on the floor. He put a wary foot on the first step and slowly climbed to the first floor.

At one end of the corridor, a door was blasted off its hinges and Harry approached it, holding his breath. He stopped in the doorway and for the first time actually saw the wreckage that had once been his cot. The room was in a shambles. The pictures were still on the walls, but Harry thought it was only a matter of time before those, too, disappeared. It seemed as if all the toys that had once been in the room were gone. Harry traced the curving pattern carved into the end of the cot, his fingers coming away coated with a layer of dust.

He pulled his hand away from the cot, wiping his fingers down the side of his jeans, and backed out of the room. A splintering sound made Harry turn and run down the stairs. He burst through the front door and pelted into the garden. The pair of souvenir-seekers was back. Harry drew his wand from his pocket and jabbed it at them. They flew backward several feet, landing with a muffled  _ thump _ in a meadow on the other side of the lane. 'This is my house!' he yelled at them. 'Not something for you to pinch piece by piece!' Harry picked up a chunk of brick from the grass at his feet and hurled it at them. 'You want something? Take that, you wankers!' The two young wizards snatched at the brick and took off running down the lane, the loud  _ pop _ of their Disapparition echoing through the valley.

Panting, Harry stepped through the gate and spun on his heel. He began to murmur the spells he and Bill had put on the Burrow when they had come home from Hogwarts in May, anger coursing through his veins. What had once been a visible symbol for resistance against Voldemort had now become something of a curiosity for people to gawk at and try to take pieces of home to display on their mantles. Completing his path around the house, Harry stood at the gate and rested the tip of his wand against the post. As he muttered the words of the final spell, the gate swung closed and locked with an audible  _ click _ . Harry was the only one who could actually open the gate now.

Shaking, Harry tightened his grip on his wand and Apparated back to the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote from The Tales of Beedle the Bard does more-or-less come from the book, but since I haven't had Hermione actually translate it yet, I tried to make it read a little 'older'.


	22. Take a Right Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron swiped his sleeve over a dusty framed photograph of Harry's parents with Sirius and Remus on their wedding day. 'Technically, it's yours,' he said. 'I can't think that your parents wouldn't want you to have this…'
> 
> 'Yeah, I guess…'
> 
> Hermione walked into the room, rubbing her hands together to warm them. 'All the cupboards in the kitchen are bewitched. It'll take more than Alohomora to get them open, though. So are the bookcases in the sitting room. Well, the ones with doors.' She looked around the room. 'You must have been an extremely mischievous child,' she told him. 'Anything important or breakable was locked away using fairly advanced locking charms.'
> 
> 'Maybe we can box all this up, mate,' Ron began. 'Take it back with us and put it in the attic. Then you can sort through it when you're ready.' He laid the photograph on the bed, and picked up one of Harry and his mother. 'It's not like it's a museum or anything.'
> 
> 'Ronald!' Hermione hissed, smacking him in the arm. 'That was out of order and completely insensitive!'
> 
> 'No,' Harry said suddenly. 'He's right. None of this was meant to be shut away.' He turned to Hermione. 'We'll do this room first, then go deal with the ground floor.'

Teddy's stuffed dragon sailed across the sitting room. Harry sighed, and lowered himself to his stomach, reaching under the sofa with one hand, sweeping from one side to the other, searching for the soft plush. His fingers brushed across something squashy, closed on the edge and instead of Teddy's stuffed Welsh Common Green, Harry pulled out a dusty parcel, wrapped in red-and-white striped paper. Frowning, he set it on the sofa and flopped back to the floor, wriggling a little, so he was partially wedged under the sofa. The dragon was just beyond his reach. Grunting, Harry managed to extricate himself from under the sofa, and pulled his wand from his pocket. ' _ Accio _ ,' he muttered, and the dragon flew into his hand. He flicked his wand over the dragon, cleaning a few smudges of dust off and handed it to Teddy. He turned his attention back to the dusty parcel and thumbed the tag open. It was for him, but was unsigned. Harry glanced up as Molly walked into the sitting room. 'Molly, what's this?' he asked, holding up the parcel.

'Hmm. Not sure.' She held out a hand and Harry passed the parcel to her. 'Oh, I remember what this is… It's your Christmas jumper,' she said, with a slight hitch. She handed it back to Harry. 'From last Christmas. Ginny made it. She insisted on it, actually. I think she kept hoping the three of you would somehow manage to show up Christmas Day.'

Harry fingered the brightly-colored paper thoughtfully. 'We were here,' he admitted. 'Not Christmas Day, though. But a couple of days later.'

'Where did you find that?' Molly asked. 'I could have sworn we put Ron's, Hermione's and yours away after Christmas.'

'Under the sofa,' Harry said, gesturing with the gift.

'Well, why don't you open it?' Molly suggested. 'It's a lovely jumper. Ginny did a good job with it.'

'If you think it's all right…'

Molly jabbed her wand toward a corner of the sitting room, Summoning the dragon back to the blanket spread on the floor where Teddy sat. 'Yes. I do.'

Harry turned the package over in his hands a few times before carefully tearing a strip away. Handfuls of soft blue wool spilled into his hands. He shook it out, revealing a jumper the limpid blue of midsummer skies, with deep green bands around the cuffs and neck. 'It is nice,' he murmured.

'You ought to wear it on Saturday,' Molly said. She ran a hand over Harry's rather shaggy hair. 'You should let me give your hair a bit of a trim,' she said.

Harry laughed. 'I owe Ron five Sickles. We've been wondering when you were going to mention my hair.'

'It's so long, dear. It's disgraceful.'

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall against the back of his neck and over his collar. 'Can you cut it for me after dinner?' he finally asked.

'Of course I can.' Molly Summoned Teddy's dragon once more, and gave it to Teddy.

'You're really good at that,' Harry commented. 'The endless throwing and fetching makes me want to grind my teeth into nubs.'

'After a while, it's something you don't even think about. I learned to do it without even thinking about it by the time Charlie got to that stage.'

Harry made a moue of distaste. 'That's how long it takes?'

'Only because Bill didn't do this,' Molly replied, flicking her wand at the dragon yet again. 'Not this much. Charlie, on the other hand, had a fascination with making things fly. Even if he had to throw them to make it happen. He constantly threw anything he could get his hands on out of his cot, and if you didn't put it back in a timely manner, he'd make such a fuss. Ron seemed to learn that if he voluntarily let go of something, he'd probably never get it back. George and… Fred would commandeer it.'

'That explains a lot,' Harry muttered. There were very few people to whom Ron would loan anything and why he hung on to something, even if it was long past its usefulness.

'What does?' Hermione came into the sitting room, and dropped to the floor next to Teddy, who grinned up at her, displaying the tiny edge of a tooth cutting through his gums. 'Ooooh,' she crooned in sympathy. 'That looks ouchy.'

'It is,' Harry said tiredly. 'And just that Ron never really did what –' The rest of what Harry was going to say was cut off by the dragon smacking him in the face. 'The heathen is doing,' he finished, picking lint off his tongue.

Hermione giggled softly as she retrieved the dragon from Harry's lap and handed it back to Teddy. 'My grandmother used to rub whiskey on my gums when I was teething,' she commented. 'Mum nearly came unglued when she found out. Her older sister did that to my cousin, which does explain why William is such a wan— Erm.' Hermione coughed, blushing a bright shade of red. 'Idiot,' she said succinctly.

Ron's head poked through the kitchen door. 'Lunch is ready,' he told them. 'Better get in here quick like. Dad and George are acting like they haven't seen a meal in ages.'

'That's because neither of them ate breakfast,' Molly grumbled. 'They were too busy mucking about at the table with Muggle magic tricks.'

'That's not true,' Ron objected. 'They ate most of the toast.'

Harry picked up Teddy. 'Get used to this,' he said in a low voice. 'It may seem barmy, but you'll know they care about you.' He glanced up at the clock, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly at the sight of his hand pointing toward "Home". He arranged Teddy in the high chair and took a small bowl from the cupboard and poured a small amount of cereal into it, using his wand to add milk and warm the mixture.

George snagged the bowl from Harry's hand and flicked his own wand at Teddy, making a bib appear around Teddy's neck. 'My turn,' he said.

'But…' Harry started to protest, but George waved him off.

'Remus didn't mean for you to do this all by yourself,' he said quietly. George tilted his head toward the clock. 'Besides, this is what families do – they help out. And you haven't eaten a meal with both hands on a weekend in weeks.'

After a long moment, Harry pushed the high chair closer to George. 'Thanks.'

'No worries, then.' George picked up the spoon and stirred the cereal in the bowl. 'Personally, Teddy,' he intoned to the baby. 'I wouldn't be caught dead eating this.'

Harry scooped beef casserole on his plate. 'Can the two of you come do something with me?' he asked, looking at Ron and Hermione. 'Instead of going off and doing whatever it is that the two of you do after lunch,' he added, feeling his ears burn. He knew perfectly well what Ron and Hermione did when they disappeared after lunch.

'Sure,' Ron plucked a roll from the basket and handed it to Hermione. 'What is it?'

'I need the two of you to go to my mum and dad's house with me later.'

'Are you sure you want to do that?' Hermione asked uneasily. At Ron's perplexed glance she mouthed,  _ I'll explain later… _

'Yes,' Harry said, tearing his roll in half. 'I went last night,' he explained. 'I found a pair of gits ripping pieces off the fence. To take home with them,' he snarled quietly.

'Oh, that's terrible,' breathed Hermione.

Harry shrugged. 'I put wards on it. Like the ones we put on here and used last year. You can't see it unless you go through the garden gate. And you can't get through the garden gate unless you're me.' He pushed a bite of his lunch around his plate. 'We won't be long,' he mumbled. 'I just want to see what I can salvage, if anything. If there are any photographs or something like that.'

'We'll go. As soon as Andromeda picks up Teddy,' Hermione said.

* * *

Ginny came down the spiral staircase from her dormitory to find Dean sitting on the sofa, a crumpled letter in his hand, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a familiar gesture to her. He did it often under great amounts of stress. 'Hey…'

Dean's eyes flew up. 'Oh. Hi.'

'All right?'

Dean nodded, then shook his head. 'I got a letter from my mum,' he said, holding up the balled-up paper.

'Is everything all right at home?' Ginny felt slightly alarmed. Dean had been close to his parents and younger sisters.

'Would your mother ever lie to you?' Dean asked abruptly.

'Probably,' Ginny admitted. 'If she thought it would protect me.'

'But you'd hate that,' Dean said slowly.

'Well, yeah, I'd be tetchy with her. We all would. She did it all the time with Harry, so as not to frighten him. She didn't think he could handle it. Not for a long time.'

Dean snorted. 'Harry's not a bloke that scares easily,' he said. 'Or if he does, he hides it well.'

Ginny shook her head. 'It's just the things that scare everyone else don't frighten him. Being alone with a four-month old baby… Leaves him shaking in his boots.' She nudged Dean's knee. 'But we were talking about you.'

'My mum wants to know if I'm coming home for the Christmas hols.'

'Why wouldn't you?'

Dean sighed and squeezed the paper ball a little. 'We had an awful row before I went on the run last year. I didn't even go home after…' He swallowed heavily. 'I went to stay with Seamus until school started.'

'What did you fight about?'

Dean pulled a much-creased photograph from the pocket of his jeans. 'This.' He handed the photograph to Ginny.

Ginny held it up to the light, squinting. 'Who's this?' she asked curiously. 'That's not your dad.' Ginny had met Dean's parents at King's Cross a time or two. Laurence Thomas was compact and wiry, with a broad smile. This man was tall and lanky with Dean's eyes and his ears. She turned the photograph over and read what was scribbled there. 'Anthony, Dean, and Olivia Quinn. 4 March 1980.' Her frown deepened as she gazed at Dean. 'That's your birthday…'

'That is correct.' Dean's slender, tapered finger tapped the photograph. 'And that is my real father…'

'Oh, Dean…'

'I didn't know,' Dean said softly. 'I was in the attic of the house, trying to find all that warm clothing my mum sends with me and the big knapsack we use when we go camping during the summers. Because with the Death Eaters running the school, there was no way a Muggle-born like me would be welcome, and I wasn't about to draw attention to my family, if I could avoid it. And I did  _ not _ want to register,' he stated emphatically. 'So I was getting ready to leave, and there was this box in the corner. I thought that might be the one, so I opened it. And instead of clothes, it had all these photographs of my mum with  _ him _ ,' he said dully. 'So I confronted Mum with the one of their wedding, since it was obviously not Dad.' Dean's voice cracked. 'She lied to me. She's lied to me my entire life.'

'What happened to him?' Ginny asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

'Dunno.' Dean shoved the photograph back into his pocket. 'Mum said he left one day and never came back. He could be anybody. Muggle, wizard, Squib. Who knows? If he was a wizard, he never told Mum.' Dean laughed bitterly. 'Guess I'll never know, will I?'

'Do you want to?' Ginny asked.

Dean sighed and threw the balled-up paper into the fire. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'It might be nice to know. Not for  _ him _ , but to know who  _ I _ am.'

'Does it matter?' Ginny got to her feet and started for the portrait hole. 'You're Dean. You're a talented artist and a wizard. You play Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. You have two younger sisters who adore you. Your mum and dad –'

'He's not –'

'Yes, he is,' Ginny insisted. 'He raised you, didn't he? He loves  _ you _ , doesn't he?'

'I suppose.'

'Has he  _ ever _ treated you differently than Katherine or Charlotte?'

'No…'

'Taught you to be who you are today?'

'Yeah…'

'Then he's your dad,' Ginny stated. She climbed out of the portrait hole and it swung shut, leaving Dean alone in the common room.

Dean watched Ginny leave and waited several moments before he picked up his bag and flipped it open. Tucked into a small pocket inside was a letter he'd received from his mother that summer, but hadn't opened. He sat on the sofa for several minutes, the envelope balanced on his palm, debating with himself to either throw it into the fire as well, or read it. He used his fingers to flip the envelope over and ran his thumb under the flap, opening it. The sound of ripping paper was loud in the quiet room. Slowly, Dean pulled out the folded paper inside, and curled into the corner of the sofa before he unfolded the letter.

_ 10 July 1998 _

_ Dear Dean, _

_ I understand you're upset with me. And perhaps I should have told you about your father sooner and not hidden him from you. But that is my mistake. Your dad – Laurence – has told me for years I needed to tell you, but maybe you'll be able to understand why I haven't told you any of this. _

_ I met your father, Anthony, when I was working as a clerk in a shop that sold art supplies when I finished school. Anthony was a painter. When you come home, there's a box in the attic with some of his drawings. I saved them for you. I thought one day I'd tell you about him, eventually, so you might want to see them. He was very good. He drew portraits. It wasn't much of a living, but he was happy. I don't know if he was like you or not. If he was, he never told me. _

_ I won't bore you with the details, but we got married, then had you about a year later. Anthony seemed to be happy, but he also seemed to worry a lot more. Every time we left the flat, he kept looking around suspiciously. It got to the point where if I took you out for a walk without him, I couldn't go a block without looking over my shoulder. And one day, when you were about five months old, I sent him for nappies and talcum powder. He never came back. _

_ Of course, I reported him missing to the police and rang all the hospitals, but nobody matching his description was ever found. I was devastated. But I needed to move on for your sake. He was declared dead when you were two. And by then I'd met Laurence. He was… good. For me. And he adored you. And you followed him everywhere when he came by the flat. He made me feel safe in a way I hadn't felt since your father disappeared. After we were married, he adopted you. Sometimes, even after that, I hoped your father would somehow show up and tell me it had all been a horrible mistake, just so I'd never have to be the one to hurt you. _

_ I never meant for you to find out this way. Please, Dean… Come home. Katherine and Charlotte miss you terribly. So does your dad. _

_ I miss you, Dean. _

_ Love, _

_ Mum _

Dean stared at the last page, covered with his mother's loopy handwriting. He unfolded himself from the sofa and picked up his bag, and left the common room in search of Luna.

* * *

Ron and Hermione trailed behind Harry, as they walked down the lane through Godric's Hollow. 'So what's with the concern about coming here?' he said, his mouth next to Hermione's ear.

Hermione reached for Ron's hand, and wound her fingers through it, slowing their pace until Harry was several feet in front of them. 'We came here on Christmas Eve,' she told him. 'He wanted to see his parents' graves, and we had wanted to see Bathilda Bagshot. Turned out she lived next door to Harry's parents.' Hermione's throat tightened. 'Voldemort,' she choked, 'killed Bathilda and hid his snake inside her. Harry, of course, could understand her, since she was speaking Parseltongue, so he didn't think anything was wrong at first. Then once they were alone, the snake attacked Harry.' Hermione brushed her fingertips over the crook of Ron's elbow. 'Just there. He almost died,' she said softly.

'That's what those scars are,' Ron said in dawning comprehension.

'Yeah. And it's how his wand got broken,' Hermione added.

Harry stood at the gate, tapping his toes impatiently. 'Could you two stop fanning around and hurry up?'

'We'll be right there!' Hermione called, quickening her steps, dragging Ron behind her until they joined Harry, who laid a hand on the gatepost, making it creak open. Ron and Hermione filed through the gate.

Ron stood in the front garden, his mouth hanging open. 'Blimey,' he breathed. 'Half the roof is gone.' His head slowly shook from side to side.

'It's all right inside,' Harry said. 'Your foot isn't going to go through the stairs or anything.'

'What are you looking for exactly?' Hermione asked, twisting the doorknob on the front door.

Harry went through the door and gazed around the entrance, rubbing a hand under his nose at the dust they stirred up. 'Personal stuff,' he said vaguely. 'Photos, letters… If those bloody vultures can get through all those charms, I don't want them taking any of those things.' He started up the stairs and walked down the corridor, opening cupboards. They were filled with things like extra jumpers and bedding. He avoided looking into the open door that led to the room with the wreckage of his old cot.

Ron appeared at the top of the stairs. 'Looks worse in here,' he muttered.

'Yeah,' Harry said.

Ron followed Harry's gaze to the closed door. 'What do you reckon is in there?'

'Dunno.'

Ron stretched out a hand and attempted to open the door. When it wouldn't open, he drew his wand from his back pocket. ' _ Alohomora _ .' The door remained tightly shut. 'Bloody hell, it's like trying to open a vault in Gringotts.'

Harry's head shook a little, like he was trying to wave off a cloud of gnats. 'What? What did you say?'

'It's like trying to open a vault at Gringotts.'

Harry's eyes narrowed and he one of his hands floated up and almost dreamily, his index finger stroked the frame of the door, as a long-forgotten memory arose. The door clicked open and Harry pushed the door open further to reveal a bedroom, the wide bed still neatly made, with several framed photographs clustered on a small table in the corner. 'Must have been charmed,' he murmured.

'Why would your parents charm their bedroom door?' Ron wondered.

Harry burst into hysterical peals of laughter. 'Did you meet Sirius?' he choked. 'I wouldn't have put it past him to sneak in there and pull some sort of prank while they were sleeping.' He clung to the door frame, attempting to catch his breath, wheezing with the remnants of laughter.

'Want to go in?' Ron asked gesturing toward the open door.

'Yeah…'

'Want me to go in with you…?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah.'

Ron slung an arm around Harry's shoulders. 'Come on, then.' They carefully stepped through the doorway and Ron glanced at his friend's pale face. 'Well, what do you want to take home with you?'

Harry shrugged, his fingertips trailing over the surface of the bureau. 'The photos, I guess.' He pulled open the top drawer, and his hand dipped inside, closing around a packet of letters, bound with a bright blue ribbon. 'This feels like stealing,' he confessed. 'Or that I'm violating my mum and dad's privacy… I keep thinking someone's going to burst through the door and raise a fuss.'

Ron swiped his sleeve over a dusty framed photograph of Harry's parents with Sirius and Remus on their wedding day. 'Technically, it's yours,' he said. 'I can't think that your parents wouldn't want you to have this…'

'Yeah, I guess…'

Hermione walked into the room, rubbing her hands together to warm them. 'All the cupboards in the kitchen are bewitched. It'll take more than  _ Alohomora _ to get them open, though. So are the bookcases in the sitting room. Well, the ones with doors.' She looked around the room. 'You must have been an extremely mischievous child,' she told him. 'Anything important or breakable was locked away using fairly advanced locking charms.'

'Maybe we can box all this up, mate,' Ron began. 'Take it back with us and put it in the attic. Then you can sort through it when you're ready.' He laid the photograph on the bed, and picked up one of Harry and his mother. 'It's not like it's a museum or anything.'

'Ronald!' Hermione hissed, smacking him in the arm. 'That was out of order and completely insensitive!'

'No,' Harry said suddenly. 'He's right. None of this was meant to be shut away.' He turned to Hermione. 'We'll do this room first, then go deal with the ground floor.'

'What about…?' Hermione gestured to the nursery, visible through the open door of James and Lily's bedroom.

Harry kept his gaze averted and focused on the open bureau drawer. 'No. Just leave it…'

* * *

Ginny checked over her Transfiguration essay. Professor Trentham had asked them to research the theory behind Animagi. Ginny had been somewhat shocked to discover it took a great deal of personal introspection to become one. She had known Sirius, and heard many stories about James. Introspection didn't seem to be a trait either of them had in a significant amount. The prevailing theory seemed to hold that like a Patronus, one's Animagus form was dictated by their personality. She made a few corrections to her citations and measured the scroll. It was fifteen inches – three past the minimum of twelve. 'Brilliant,' she muttered.

Luna glanced up from her Arithmancy textbook. 'What is?'

'My essay for Transfiguration,' Ginny said, brandishing the scroll. 'I wrote it as if McGonagall was going to mark it. Trentham ought to give it at least an E.'

'That's always a good plan,' Luna said, scribbling a formula in her notes.

Ginny propped her chin in an upturned hand. 'Luna, are you busy?'

'Not especially.'

'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.'

'Are you in love with Dean?'

Luna closed her textbook and gazed at Ginny. 'No.'

'How do you know?' Ginny asked.

'Dean isn't the first person I want to talk to when I wake up. And he's nice, but the things that are important to me don't matter much to him. He's quite easy to talk to, but I don't feel the urge to find an empty classroom and stay up until three in the morning talking to him. And I don't want to rush to find him and tell him something good's happened, or even when something bad happens. It always sounds like whinging when he's complaining about something.' Luna paused and leaned closer to Ginny. 'And he has a tendency to hover, even after I've asked him not to. It's quite annoying actually.'

'So it's not just one thing…?' Ginny asked.

Luna shook her head. 'I don't think so. And I can't quite picture any sort of future with him.' Luna cocked her head to one side. 'And he sort of kisses everywhere at once… It's more wet than anything else.'

'Yeah,' Ginny agreed, her lip curling slightly in distaste. 'Didn't exactly make my toes curl, either.'

Luna's misty gaze sharpened. 'Why are you asking?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Just curious.' She rubbed her hands over her face. 'It's just with everything sort of going back to normal, I was trying to figure out if it wasn't just a little girl's crush with Harry…'

'Maybe you're not meant to,' Luna said dreamily. 'It's one of those things that can't really be defined or explained. There's supposed to be an entire area of study by Unspeakables about it. Not always something you can point to and say "That's it." It's all the inconsequential things that add up. Like an equation in Arithmancy.' She wrapped a strand of hair around her index finger. 'That's what my mum said in the diary she kept. People never quite understood why she married my father.'

Ginny toyed with her quill. 'Thanks, Luna. That actually makes sense…'

Luna grinned deprecatingly. 'It happens from time to time.'


	23. In Dreams and Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'It's not supposed to be this hard!' Harry burst out.
> 
> 'What's not?'
> 
> 'This! You, me! It's not supposed to be this hard!' Harry slid off the boulder and began to pace in front of it. 'I was supposed to see you and… And…'
> 
> 'And what?'
> 
> Harry glared at her for a moment before he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. When he tore his mouth away from hers, he could scarcely breathe. 'That…'
> 
> Ginny blinked. 'Oh.'

_ Ginny left the breakfast table as soon as Harry had finished opening his birthday gifts. She ran up to her bedroom, and swiftly made her bed and shoved all her dirty laundry under it. She swept the clutter on the surface of her desk into the laundry basket and shoved it into her small closet. She froze when she heard Ron, Hermione, and Harry come up the first flight of stairs. Ginny took a deep breath. 'Now or never, Weasley,' she muttered. She twisted the doorknob and opened the door a little. 'Harry, will you come in here a moment?' she asked, hoping he didn't hear how breathless she sounded. He looked slightly confused, but followed her into her bedroom. _

_ She clasped her hands behind her back, hoping to quell their shaking. He was gazing interestedly around her room, and she suddenly realized why. In all the years he'd come to stay with them at the Burrow, he'd never once seen the inside of her bedroom. She suddenly felt very aware of how small the room was and how her single bed seemed to loom against the wall. He finally turned his bright green eyes to her, and Ginny took a deep breath. 'Happy seventeenth,' she said softly. _

' _ Yeah… thanks.' Harry's voice was quiet, but it sent ripples up her spine. Ginny kept her eyes on his face, and he seemed to be unable to look away from her, but ironically, unable to look at her at the same time. 'Nice view,' he said, in a desperate rush to fill the increasingly tense silence. _

' _ I couldn't think what to get you,' Ginny finally said. _

' _ You didn't have to get me anything,' Harry said quickly. _

_ Ginny ignored him, her fingertips itching to trace the underside of his jaw. 'I didn't know what would be useful,' she continued, as if he hadn't said anything. 'Nothing too big, because you wouldn't be able to take it with you.' Ginny's voice was steady and she cocked her head to the side slightly, taking a step closer to Harry. 'So then, I thought, I'd like you to have something to remember me by, you know, if you meet some veela when you're off doing whatever you're doing,' she quipped lightly, knowing she was about to make a fool of herself if things went wrong. _

_ The corner of Harry's mouth tipped up a little. 'I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on the ground, to be honest,' he told her huskily. _

' _ There's the silver lining I've been looking for,' Ginny whispered, then before she could change her mind, she closed the small space between them, and rose on her toes, pressing her lips to Harry's. Her arms wound around his neck and he made a soft sound in his throat while her tongue traced the contours of his lips. It was as if something snapped, and one of his hands tangled in her hair, and the other slipped around her waist, and pressed her against his body, bending her backwards. _

_ Ginny mewed against his mouth and suddenly Harry tore his mouth away from hers and he kicked the door shut, returning to Ginny before she could protest. Ginny pushed the unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt off his shoulders and began to yank the tail of his t-shirt from the waistband of his jeans, her hands skimming up the skin of his back. Harry's fingers danced up the front of her shirt, trying to push the small buttons through the smaller buttonholes. After a few fumbling attempts, he gave up and hooked his fingers on the collar and pulled, sending several buttons pinging to the floor. _

_ He began to move backward, gently pulling Ginny with him until his knees hit the side of her bed, and he sank onto it, pulling Ginny with him… _

Ginny's eyes snapped open. Instead of the small, bright bedroom at the Burrow, she was ensconced in her bed in her dormitory at Hogwarts, surrounded by scarlet curtains. Her breathing slowed and Ginny lifted a shaking hand, wiping away the sweat that beaded her forehead. 'What the hell was that?' she muttered.

* * *

Ginny sat on her bed, waiting for the other girls to fall asleep. She was determined that she would sleep tonight. Without the dreams.  _ Right _ , Ginny muttered to herself.  _ I just need some tea or something. I think Mum packed some chamomile in my trunk. _ She threw the duvet off and lunged for her trunk, pushing the lid up. She rummaged in the bottom for the packet of chamomile tea Molly had thrown into the trunk before she'd left for King's Cross.  _ These dreams are getting ridiculous _ , Ginny grumbled silently, not wanting to arouse the suspicion of the others girls in the dormitory. She used her wand to fill a large mug with water and heated it with a tap of the wand. She dropped the teabag into the water and set the mug on the night table, waiting for it to steep.

' _ This is silly,' Harry muttered mutinously. _

' _ What is?' Ginny's hands slid across his back, warm in the chill of the water. _

' _ This,' he said, with a sweep of his hand, skimming across the surface of the river, sending a splash of water into Ginny's face. _

' _ Urg,' she spluttered. _

' _ Sorry.' He squinted up at her, trying to bring her face into focus. 'I mean, here I am – the Savior of the Wizarding World –'he began mockingly. 'And my girlfriend is teaching me how to float on my back.' _

' _ Swim,' Ginny corrected. 'I'm teaching your ungrateful arse to swim.' _

' _ Yeah.' _

_ Ginny flicked water at Harry. 'Shush you,' she huffed. 'Too much talking, not enough floating.' _

_ Harry snorted and let his eyes close as he floated peacefully for several moments. Ginny bit her lip and let one hand slip from under his shoulders. She laid it on the sprawling bruise that spread over his chest. The heat from his skin warmed her hand, and she could feel his heartbeat bump steadily against her palm. _

_ She was unaware Harry's eyes had opened and watched her curiously as her head dipped and she began to gently brush her lips across the bruise. 'What are you doing?' he asked mildly. _

_ Ginny turned her head to meet his gaze. 'Making it better…' She resumed her gentle ministrations with her lips over the livid bruise. _

Ginny sat up with an explosive gasp. She expected to see the lazy current of the River Otter, not the scarlet curtains that swathed her bed. 'All right,' she breathed. 'All right. The chamomile did not help…'

* * *

_ Ginny stepped into the tiled cubicle of the bathroom in the boy's dormitory. Her bare feet were cold and the scalding water pooled in the bottom stung a little as they acclimated to the temperature. She wrapped her arms around Harry's waist, hand sliding across his soapy skin. _

Ginny jerked, her arms and legs flailing, tangling in the sheets already twisted around her body. She nearly fell out of bed. She glared at the canopy overhead. This was not supposed to be happening.

* * *

Harry twisted trying to see down the back of his jeans. It had been ages since he'd had clothes that were bought with his size in mind. 'Well, more than just my school uniform,' he muttered. He tugged at the hem of his newly-discovered Christmas jumper. He had spent his lunch hours the past week scouring through department stores for clothes. Not that he knew much about clothes, so he stuck to the basics – jeans, trousers, a few shirts that fit, some jumpers that weren't full of holes, and new trainers and a pair of boots. The jeans were stiff in their newness, an entirely unfamiliar sensation to Harry. He'd never had a brand-new pair of jeans in his life.

'Oh, stop being such a girl,' Ron called into the bathroom.

'Hi, Harry,' Hermione chirped. 'Oooh. Nice jumper. Where'd you get it?'

'Belated Christmas gift,' Harry murmured.

'Ready to go?' Hermione asked. 'We were thinking about Flooing from here to the Leaky Cauldron, then from there to the Three Broomsticks. They'll let them leave to the village about eleven, and we can meet up with Ginny in the entrance at Hogwarts.'

'At the gate?' Harry asked, his head whipping around to face Hermione and Ron standing on the landing.

'At the school…' Hermione said uncertainly. 'Is that all right? I told Ginny we'd meet her at the school…'

Harry felt a sharp pain in palm and glanced down. He'd clenched his hands into fists so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms. He forced himself to straighten his fingers. 'Yeah,' he gulped. 'Yeah, it's fine.' He ran his hand over his newly-shorn hair, ruffling it a little. He took a deep breath. 'Let's go, then.'

* * *

Harry trailed behind Ron and Hermione, trudging up the lane from the entrance gate of the school. It felt strange to be back to a place he had considered his first home for so long, only to be seized with a sudden desire to turn his back on it and run in the other direction. He sighed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, tucking his chin into the recesses of the new hand-made scarf he'd found draped over the hook in the scullery that held his coat. If Molly had her way, she'd see he was kitted out properly in no time at all. He was frankly surprised she hadn't gone out and just bought new pants for him while she was at it. Be he supposed even Molly was going to draw the line there. For now.

He was slightly worried about seeing Ginny. Her letters to him were… He'd never received letters from her before, so he didn't have anything to judge them by. She  _ seemed _ okay, but there was something he couldn't put his finger on about them. If pressed, he could say there was a nervous quality about them, but that wasn't the Ginny he knew. Not the Ginny he had come to know and respect. It almost felt like those days before his second year of school when he'd stayed at the Burrow, and Ginny could be found peering shyly at him from the edges of the sitting room. When he read her letters, that was the image of Ginny that rose before him. Harry didn't consider himself the jealous type, either, but she'd been awfully chatty about Dean lately – how well he was progressing at Keeper, conversations they had in the common room – to the point where Harry was wondering if she was trying to obliquely tell him something. He shook his head. No, that wasn't Ginny's style. She usually had no problems telling him something. After all, she was the one who stalked him during the summer and told him baldly how his behavior was affecting the rest of the family, and didn't mince words while she did so.

Hermione threw a glance over her shoulder at Harry and frowned. 'Do you think he's okay?' she asked Ron softly.

Ron shrugged. 'Yeah. Maybe he's just nervous about seeing Ginny again. I was when you came home. Spent all day on pins and needles waiting.'

Hermione snuck another peek at Harry. 'I'm not sure…' she said doubtfully.

'Hermione, leave him be, all right?' Ron muttered, growing annoyed. 'If he wants to talk about something, he'll come to us. Like he usually does. And if there's someone who hates hovering more than Ginny, it's Harry.' His expression softened as he reached down and took Hermione's mittened hand in his. 'I know you mean well, hen.'

The three of them climbed the stone steps to the large doors of the school and pushed one of the doors open, straining to make a crack large enough to slip through. The entrance was empty, and there were no welcoming echoes of students streaming through the school for a well-deserved day of hilarity in the village. 'How early are we?' Ron asked, trying to pull up his sleeve to check his watch.

'About ten minutes,' Hermione murmured. 'They ought to be coming down here soon.' She pulled a book out of her bag, and began to leaf through it.

'You brought a book?' Ron said incredulously. 'To a date?'

Hermione glanced at him over the edge of the book. 'This is a date?' she snorted. 'Hanging round Hogsmeade with your sister and her boyfriend?'

'It's better than nothing,' Ron said defensively.

'Ah… Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter… Here to meet your sister, are you?' McGonagall said, as she sailed into the entrance.

'Yes, professor,' Ron said.

'That's nice of you,' McGonagall said, then turned as a swelling tide of noise began to flood the entrance. 'Please form a line to the left. Professor Sinestra will check your names off the list of students with permission to visit the village! Any attempts to sneak out without said permission will result in more detentions than you can possibly complete in the remainder of the school year,' she informed the gathered students severely.

Harry glanced up at the staircase that led to Gryffindor tower and barely refrained from letting his jaw drop open. Ginny clattered down the stairs with Dean to one side of her and Demelza on the other, but as she chatted with Dean, her face lit up with laughter as she mimicked one of Ron's less spectacular saves from his tenure as Keeper.  _ It's nothing _ , he told himself.  _ Nothing at all… _

'Ginny!' Hermione waved a hand wildly in the air, and Ginny shrieked and bolted down the rest of the stairs, hurling herself at Hermione.

'I'm so glad to see you!' Ginny said fervently. 'You have no idea how badly I've needed to talk to you!'

'Did you forget how to write?' Hermione teased.

Ginny caught sight of Harry and flushed. 'N-n-n-no,' she stammered. 'Just needed to talk in person,' she said in a rush. 'Hi, Harry,' she breathed, her hands twisted around the ends of her scarf.

Harry tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. 'Hi, Gin…' Awkwardly, he leaned forward and brushed a chaste kiss across her cheek. 'Erm… Shall we…?' he asked, gesturing toward the door. As he extended his arm, his coat swung open revealing the jumper underneath. Ginny's eyes widened in shock.

'Before you go, Potter, I need to have a word with you in my office.' McGonagall put a hand between Harry's shoulder blades and steered him in the direction of the Headmistress' office. 'You can have him back in a few minutes, Miss Weasley,' she added.

Ginny watched Harry disappear with McGonagall and seized Hermione by the sleeve. 'Erm, can you come with me to the bathroom? I, um, think I've gone and sat on something…' she said in a rush, and dragged Hermione off to the bathroom closest to the entrance.

Ron stood in the middle of the entrance gaping after them. 'I'll just stand here, then, shall I?' he yelled sarcastically.

'That would be great!' Hermione called over her shoulder. She let Ginny tow her into the bathroom, and watched curiously as Ginny cast every spell she knew to keep people from overhearing a conversation. 'All right?'

'No, I'm not all right! I mean, things were fine. Great, actually, then I come back to school, and there's this space between us, and I start to wonder do I really love him or is it still some vestige of hero-worship from when I was eleven? And then he shows up wearing that damn jumper I knitted for him last Christmas! How did he even find the bloody thing? I could have sworn I packed it away in the cupboard of my bedroom… Oh, please tell me he hasn't been pawing through my things… And then he looks so good in it. And it's like I'm eleven all over again, and I don't know what to say, and I don't know what to do with my hands, and all we need now is a bloody butter dish and it's complete!' Ginny began to pace to and fro across the bathroom, ignoring the rather perplexed expression on Hermione's face. 'And what is up with these dreams?' she yelled. 'Every night! Every bleeding night I have one. And it's  _ not _ like it is in those barmy novels I read! Oh, no! It's  _ supposed _ to be moonlight and rose petals… And music and candles… And  _ chocolate _ for Merlin's sake! But, oh no! No! It's all buttons popping and swimming and showers and snogging and skin and I'm so confused!' Ginny was on the verge of tears. 'And what happens next? What if… I can't…  _ I thought he was dead _ ! I thought he was dead and the life I thought – I  _ knew _ – I wanted was over! And then he's not, and bloody hell! Why does it have to be so effing complicated?' she roared, slumping against the wall. 'And he comes through that door and he smells so good and I can't decide whether or not to snog him senseless or shake his hand…' she added plaintively. Ginny stood against the wall, the sounds of her breathing harshly echoing around them. 'I can't live like I did last year,' Ginny said quietly into the silence of the bathroom. 'I can't live the rest of my life wondering if he's going to come home again…' She looked at Hermione. 'I think I've gone quite mad…'

Hermione turned and reached into a stall and tore a long strip off the toilet roll and handed the wad to Ginny. 'Blow your nose,' she said matter-of-factly.

Ginny did as she was instructed and swiped the back of her hand over her cheeks. 'Do you trust Ron?' she asked abruptly.

Hermione was taken aback. 'Yes. But it's not quite the same, is it?'

'But he left you…' Ginny persisted.

Hermione waved her wand in the air, conjuring a handkerchief. She soaked it in cold water from the sink and began to gently press it to Ginny's face. 'It's not quite the same,' she repeated. 'I've known Ron and what's he capable of doing since we were eleven years old. And when he came back after Christmas, I didn't trust him. Not for a long time. Months. And even now, I wonder if he's telling me what he really feels or what he thinks I want to hear to make me think he's all grown up. And if you know Harry as well as you think you do, you'd know that if things went sour between the two of you because of who and what he is, he'd never forgive himself…'

'I know,' Ginny said tightly.

'I don't want to spout off some trite nonsense about giving him time,' Hermione said lightly. 'That's the last thing you want or need to hear. Give yourself time, eh?' She pulled Ginny into a hug. 'It's not like you're getting married tomorrow…'

Ginny laughed shakily. 'I keep telling myself that…'

Hermione pulled back a little, so she could look at Ginny. 'You do know how you feel, you know…' she murmured. 'You just have to sort it out from the other noise…'

Ginny sighed and stepped back. 'I'm scared to try…' she confessed.

'At least you can admit that.' Hermione tucked a strand of Ginny's hair behind her ear. 'Let's get you settled a bit. Then we can go back out.' She leaned against the wall next to Ginny. 'Trust or love isn't something that happens overnight, you know.'

'How did you know it was Ron…? If you don't mind me asking.'

'Oh…' Hermione traced the pattern in the tile with the toe of her shoe. 'Not until I saw him snogging Lavender in the common room. I mean I knew there was something. And it didn't dawn on me why I was upset when he didn't ask me to the Yule Ball our fourth year, or why I didn't mind when he gave me that completely awful perfume. But the first time I saw them with each other…' Hermione shook her head ruefully. 'I wanted to claw her eyes out with my bare hands, smack some sense into Ron, then snog him myself until he forgot she ever existed.' She gazed contemplatively at Ginny. 'You seemed awfully chummy with Dean.'

'He's a friend,' Ginny retorted. 'And one of my teammates. And in my House.'

'And a former boyfriend,' Hermione reminded her. 'You were with him for quite a while.'

'Oh, come off it,' Ginny snorted. 'He's just a friend.'

'If you say so…'

'I do.'

Hermione examined the younger girl for a moment. 'You know, if you'd unbend enough to talk to Fleur, you might learn something about yourself.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ginny asked sharply.

'I know you don't like her,' Hermione began, 'but think about it. If anyone could tell you what the difference between a crush and real, actual love would be, it would be Fleur. Or if you won't talk to her, then talk to Bill.'

'Maybe,' Ginny murmured, reluctance lacing her voice.

Hermione nibbled a thumbnail. 'So those dreams…? Who's in them…?

Ginny huffed. 'Who do you think?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Dunno. I mean, I dreamed about Ron in Australia…'

'Ew.'

'It's perfectly natural,' Hermione said loftily.

'Not when it's Ron.' Ginny examined the toes of her trainers. 'It's Harry…' she admitted.

'Well…' Hermione pushed herself off the wall. 'Make sure you remember than when you're trying to decide if you're still in the throes of a crush.' She began to lift some of the charms around the bathroom, then stopped before she lifted the Muffliato charm. 'So, how are they… those dreams…?'

Ginny's cheeks burned and she brushed her hair from her face. 'Erm… We're going to have to stop by Honeydukes' before we come back. I need to replenish my chocolate stash…'

'Ah.'

* * *

Harry stared at McGonagall. 'What do you mean, "The Pensieve is yours"?' he spluttered.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. 'Exactly what I said, Potter. Dumbledore wants you to have it.'

'But I can't take it,' Harry protested. 'It's valuable! Someone else probably needs it more.'

McGonagall shot Dumbledore's empty frame a mutinous look. 'Albus would insist on visiting Aberforth today…' she grumbled. 'Harry… You have more information about how Dark wizards think. You spent half your life linked to the Darkest wizard of all time. At some point, you might want to examine those memories. If not for yourself, then for your profession.' McGonagall speared Harry with one of her sternest looks. 'What if the difference between catching a Dark wizard is whether or not you were able to sift through those memories?'

Harry met her gaze squarely. 'That's not fair, professor,' he said firmly, but quietly. His eyes flicked toward the cupboard in the corner of the office. He silently cursed her for knowing his weaknesses.

McGonagall smiled thinly, knowing her arrow had hit the target. 'I'll have it packed up for you to take home when you bring Miss Weasley back later.'

'Thanks,' Harry muttered. It was one more thing to add to the growing pile of things in the Weasley's attic.

'You'll thank me one day, Potter.' McGonagall motioned toward the door. 'Now, go enjoy the rest of your day.'

* * *

'It's like the train,' Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

'What is?' Hermione made a face at the couple meandering ahead of them.

'Those two.' Ron made a small gesture to Harry and Ginny's back. 'Remember? On the train home after Dumbledore's funeral, we were all crammed into one compartment – you, me, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Luna, Ginny, and Harry – and  _ they _ ,' he jabbed an accusatory finger at Ginny and Harry's backs, 'ended up sitting next to each other. You could cut the tension in there with a wooden spoon.'

Hermione nodded. 'Yeah, I remember.' It had been almost unbearably painful, like a bad sunburn. It simmered just under the surface until you had to move, then it rippled over you in increasingly agonizing shimmers. Harry had managed to squeeze next to the window, and by the time Ginny was able to join them, the seat next to him was the only one left. Hermione didn't think it had been deliberate, but no one seemed willing to sit next to Harry that day. Not even her and Ron. Ginny, however, had hesitated a little, then with a resolute glint in her eyes, burrowed into the seat. Hermione had noticed how once Ginny was settled, Harry shifted slightly, so he could see her in the reflection of the window, even though it appeared he was ignoring her.

Today, they walked close to each other, but neither of them managed to meet the other's eyes. Occasionally, they would bump into each other, and veer away quickly with muted apologies. 'It's like Kneazles in a room full of rocking chairs,' Ron breathed.

Harry kept his eyes glued to the path in front of them. Ginny did, too. Neither of them seemed to know what to say, and when he did give Ginny a quick peek, he could see her shoulders hitch irritably as she tossed her hair over her shoulder and glare at Ron. He knew Ron and Hermione were talking about them. He could hear their indistinct murmurs. It was why he kept shoving his hands deeper and deeper into his pockets.

Unable to take it anymore, he stopped, and grabbed Ginny's sleeve with one hand, pulling her to a stop. 'You two go on,' he said to Ron and Hermione. 'We'll be along in a bit…'

Ron looked from Harry to Ginny and grabbed Hermione's hand before she could say another word and towed her away through the gate.

Harry took Ginny's hand and pulled her to the edge of the Forest. He found a boulder and silently gestured for Ginny to sit. When she'd managed to find a comfortable position, he perched gingerly next to her. 'We don't have to do this, you know…'

'Do what?'

'Date each other.' Harry's hands almost went through the pockets of his coat. He could feel the seams straining under his clenched fists. 'You just seem to not want to…'

'Oh.'

'I mean, I know we said we'd try it, but, we never said anything was permanent. Clearly, you don't want this anymore…'

'I haven't said that!' Ginny protested.

'You looked pretty friendly with Dean earlier,' Harry muttered mulishly.

'Because we're friends,' Ginny sighed. 'I have a history with him. And just because I'm with you, it doesn't erase that. Dean's just a friend. And the Keeper of my Quidditch team. If you'd wanted to be friends with Cho, who am I stop you?'

'It's not supposed to be this hard!' Harry burst out.

'What's not?'

'This! You, me! It's not supposed to be this hard!' Harry slid off the boulder and began to pace in front of it. 'I was supposed to see you and… And…'

'And what?'

Harry glared at her for a moment before he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. When he tore his mouth away from hers, he could scarcely breathe. 'That…'

Ginny blinked. 'Oh.'

'God, Ginny, you're killing me,' Harry said hoarsely, his hands still clenched around her arms. 'But if you tell me to go, I will.'

Ginny's mouth opened but nothing came out.

'Right…' Harry let go of Ginny and his head bowed dejectedly. He turned to walk to the gates of Hogwarts, intending to Apparate back to Devon and the Burrow. 'Sorry to have bothered you.'

He'd walked no more than a few steps when he felt a hand snatch a handful of the back of his coat. 'Don't go.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue from Ginny's first dream is from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pg. 115-116, published by Scholastic.


	24. For a Good Time

Harry tried to twist out of Ginny's grip, but she had surprisingly strong hands.  _ Must be all that Quidditch practice. _ 'If I stay, will you please tell me what's going on with you?' He felt Ginny's fingers release his coat, and he spun around to face her.

'I need time,' she whispered.

'Time for what?'

Ginny ran her hands through her hair and sighed. 'Everything.' She walked back to the boulder and slumped on it, pulling her knees into her chest. 'I need to figure a few things out…'

Harry frowned. Ginny was being awfully opaque, and he was certain she wasn't going to voluntarily elaborate. 'Do you want to break it off with me?' he asked bluntly, not caring for this evasive Ginny sitting in front of him.

'No…'

'Then what are you trying to figure out for Merlin's sake? I mean you were all over me at the train platform in September, and today you can't even bear to look at me…' When Ginny didn't respond he added, 'It's the hair, right? I let your mum cut my hair the other night…'

'It's not the hair,' Ginny muttered.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. 'Then what is it? I'm not very good at this… Dating, I mean. So you're going to have to tell me exactly what you mean.'

Ginny buried her face into her knees. 'It's so stupid,' she groaned.

'Must not be too terribly stupid if you're working yourself into a state over it,' Harry ventured.

Without lifting her face from her knees, Ginny mumbled, 'You.'

'What?'

Ginny slid off the boulder and began to amble around the clearing. 'What I said over the summer still stands. I won't live like I did last year. Not just I can't do it. But I won't do it.'

'Barring anyone else figuring out how he did it all, Riddle's methods died with him,' Harry stated. 'It won't be the same. I'm not promising I'll be able to tell you everything, but I can't see having to cut you off completely like that…'

'And just getting some space between us.' Ginny's hair gleamed dully in the weak sunshine attempting to break through the low, grey clouds. 'I started thinking; do I love  _ you _ or Harry Potter…?

'Oh.' Harry forced himself to take a deep breath. 'Gin… you're only seventeen…' he began. 'And I'm only eighteen. I forget how young we are sometimes… We don't have to decide anything right now. I thought that was the whole point of dating…'

'Well, yeah, I suppose…'

'So, what's the rush? I'm not particularly interested in following in my parents' footsteps.' Harry stopped and realized how bad that sounded. 'Just in that they were pretty young when they got married,' he added in a rush. 'I just want to spend some time with you.'

'You don't mind?'

'A bit,' Harry admitted. 'I really mind all the talk about Dean, though,' he said darkly.

'I needed to talk about something,' Ginny said defensively. 'And I didn't think, "Dear Harry, I'm doubting my feelings for you." would go over well in a letter… And in case you missed it, Dean went off with Luna. Besides, he's awfully lonely here without your lot,' she added. 'You and Ron didn't come back, and neither did Seamus or Neville. He's stuck in a dormitory with the boys from my year. He doesn't have many friends in Gryffindor anymore, other me and the other team members, and they're all a bit younger.'

Harry pulled his glasses off and began to pinch the top of his nose. It was a gesture that was increasingly becoming more and more commonplace. 'I'd rather you just  _ told _ me what was going on with you,' he muttered crossly.

'Even if it's something you might not like?'

'Yes… I don't want you to think you have to walk on eggshells on anything around me. I want you to put my arse in a sling if I need it. And I want you to be honest with me. Even if you decide you're moving off to… I dunno… America or something barmy like that… And you never want to see me again.'

Ginny pulled down a leaf, still clinging stubbornly to a tree, and began to methodically shred it into tinier and tinier bits. 'All right, then…' she finally said.

Harry released the pent-up breath he hadn't realized he was holding. 'Can we start this over?' He met Ginny and cupped her face between his hands and gently kissed her. 'Hiya…'

* * *

'Did anyone ever tell you that you're difficult?' Harry asked conversationally, as they walked toward the school gates. He and Ginny walked close to each other, but not quite touching.

'Sometimes,' Ginny mused. 'Mostly Mum when I get my knickers in a twist over something and won't let it go.' She eyed the vivid slash of blue visible under Harry's open coat. 'Where did you find that?'

'Under the sofa last weekend. Teddy's started to throw his things across the room, and the dragon ended up behind the sofa – don't ask me how – and I tried to grab it and instead of pulling out a drool-covered, plushy, green dragon, I end up with a dusty Christmas gift.'

'I thought I put them away,' Ginny murmured. 'We had one for Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy – Mum insisted on making one for him – Fred, and George. I said we ought to have one for the three of you, just in case you came by for a bit. In disguise, of course…'

'Almost wish we had…' Harry commented. 'I could have used a jumper that wasn't getting holey.'

'Well, obviously, you didn't make it home and well, neither did Perce. I grabbed what I thought were yours, Ron's, and Hermione's and shoved them behind some boxes in the cupboard in my bedroom. I didn't look at the tags, to be honest. I was somewhat…' Ginny swallowed. 'Upset.' She glanced at Harry again. 'It looks nice on you,' she offered. 'Brings out your eyes.'

'Erm… Thanks…' Harry felt the back of his neck burn. Compliments were still something he wasn't comfortable hearing.

Ginny reached out tentatively and brushed the tips of her fingers over his hair. 'So you let Mum cut your hair, eh?'

Harry self consciously shook his head a little. 'Yeah. Hadn't cut it since Fleur got her hands on it last March.'

'You can tell Mum did it,' Ginny snorted. 'She always cuts it a bit too short.'

'Yeah, after she got through with Charlie last summer, he looked like those sheep at the farm at the other end of the lane by the Burrow after they've been sheared.'

Ginny snickered. 'That's his fault for letting her do it. The rest of them figured out how to evade Mum years ago. Charlie's always a bit into his own world, especially if he's got that sketchbook around, and by the time he's noticed the others have found an excuse to be elsewhere, he's the only one left.' Ginny moved a little closer to Harry. 'Work all right?'

Harry shrugged. 'It's work. They're trying to figure out how to try the Death Eaters that survived without it degenerating into a media circus or a forum for settling scores or grudges.' He hesitated for a moment. 'They're investigating Percy,' he said quietly.

Ginny's feet slowed to a stop and she gaped at Harry. 'Whatever for?' she gasped.

'Conspiring with the Death Eaters…' Harry's hands went back into his pockets. 'I've only heard it around the Ministry. It might be a formality because he's working with Kingsley or it might be worse.' Harry's face crumpled into a grimace. 'I'm not really supposed to know anything, because, well, it's not  _ ethical _ to investigate your own family.'

'Then why are you telling me this?' Ginny asked.

Harry heaved a sigh. 'So you know when it comes out in the papers. And it  _ will _ come out in the papers. I didn't want you to be blindsided by it. I hated that when I was here.'

'Thanks…' As they approached the Three Broomsticks, Ginny reached down and picked up Harry's left wrist, tilting it up to see the time. 'Bloody hell, we've been a long time…'

'Surprised Ron hasn't sent out a search party yet?' Harry quipped.

'A little,' Ginny admitted.

'Hermione's a good distraction.'

'Any success in convincing her to come back?'

Harry shook his head. 'No. Not yet. Ron mentions it at least once a day. She ignores him. He mentions it again. She ignores him or rebuffs him. He lets it go for ten minutes. It goes on and on until they end up bickering. It builds up all week, then on Sunday after lunch…' Harry's shoulder rose in an eloquent shrug.

'Okay, stop. I've been having enough strange dreams as it is, please don't add to it,' Ginny begged.

'What kind of dreams?' Harry shot at her, suspicion coloring his voice. To his complete surprise, Ginny's face immediately suffused with a rich rosy glow.

'Just… dreams…' she muttered.

Harry's hand darted out and closed around Ginny's arm. 'What kind of dreams?' he demanded.

'Nothing sinister, I promise…' Ginny assured him. 'They're dreams. Dreams where weird and strangely… pleasant… things happen…' she choked, feeling her face burn even more. She took a deep breath. 'Don't let me forget to pick up some chocolate later.'

'I thought you said they were pleasant,' Harry said in bemusement.

'Oh, well, they are,' Ginny stammered. She could feel the prickle of sweat breaking out along her hairline. 'It still helps…' She pushed open the door of the Three Broomsticks and began to scan the crowded tables for Ron and Hermione.

'There.' Harry pointed to a table in the corner. Ron was scowling into his bottle of butterbeer. 'I wonder what's got him shirty already…'

'He's probably ready to chew his own arm off from hunger, and Hermione won't let them get lunch because it wouldn't be polite to not wait for us,' Ginny reasoned.

'That makes sense.' Harry followed Ginny to the small table and wavered with one hand on the back of an empty chair, unsure of whether to pull it out for her, like he'd seen Bill do for Fleur a few times, or let Ginny manage on her own. Ginny took matters into her own hands and plopped into the chair next to Hermione, who gave her a significant look, to which Ginny replied with a small tilt of her head.

The door opening caught Harry's attention and a tall wizard Harry had never seen before loped into pub. He wore jeans and a jumper with the casual indifference Harry almost envied. 'What are you looking at?' Hermione asked absently, perusing the single laminated card that made up the pub's menu. She glanced in the direction of Harry's gaze and her eyes widened as she made a low appreciative whistle. 'Who is that…?'

Ginny looked up, then turned back to the menu. 'Professor Carter,' she said. 'New Defense professor.'

One of Hermione's brows slowly rose. 'How do you get anything done in class with him walking around…?

'Hermione!' exclaimed Ron.

'Hmmm?'

'I'm right here!' Ron huffed. 'Bloody hell!'

'I'm not dead, Ronald,' Hermione murmured.

The corner of Ginny's mouth twitched. 'He usually wears robes in school,' she told Hermione. 'Hides his bum, so we're not distracted.'

'Oh my…'

'Miss Granger!' McGonagall materialized seemingly out of thin air.

Hermione stilled and she turned her head carefully. 'Good afternoon, professor…' she said weakly.

'I assume you three are staying for dinner?'

'We thought about it,' Ron interjected.

'Very good,' McGonagall pronounced, a small smile curling her lips. 'I'd like a word with you after dinner in the staff lounge, Miss Granger, if you don't mind.'

'O-o-of course…'

'I shall see you there, then.' And with a nod, McGonagall melted into a knot of Hogwarts' staff.

* * *

Hermione perched gingerly on the edge of an armchair by the fire in the staff lounge, her hands laced tightly together. 'So you wanted to see me, professor?'

'Miss Granger, I'm trying to understand why you didn't return to school in September. Of all the students who should have finished their seventh year, I would have thought you would be the first one on the train.'

'I was in Australia,' Hermione began. 'I didn't know when I was going to be back. And we  _ couldn't _ get back before September first.'

'Hogwash,' McGonagall pronounced firmly.

'Excuse me?'

'Hogwash. If you had needed or wanted to get back sooner, Maisri Richardson would have been able to arrange it. And if not, she's not worth the title of Australian Minister of Magic. You are welcome to return to school for the rest of the year. If you want.'

'But I've missed the first two months of the term,' Hermione argued.

McGonagall stared at Hermione for a long moment then burst into peals of laughter. 'Missed the first two months! Oh, Miss Granger, I've needed a good laugh. If anyone can miss the first two months of term and still end up at the top of their class, it's you.' She sat up a little straighter. 'We – the other professors and I – will give you an exam over the material the other students have covered so far. If you pass it with at least an "E", then that's it. Anything less means you'll have extra lessons to catch up.' McGonagall eyed Hermione. 'But I highly doubt you'll need those.' She picked up a scroll and tapped it with her wand. 'Now, then, what classes will you be taking?' she asked briskly.

'Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Potions, Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology,' Hermione said automatically.

'That's what I thought you'd say.'

The light in Hermione's eyes faded. 'I need to discuss this with my parents first…'

'Understood. I'll expect an owl with your decision by Wednesday.'

Hermione nodded and tried to smile.

It was what she wanted… Wasn't it?

* * *

There was something about making love with Ron that Hermione thoroughly enjoyed. Not just the obvious physical pleasure of the moment that left them both limp in that odd sort of boneless satiation. No, that wasn't the reason she reveled in the exploration of the body and senses. She loved the gradual stripping away of the prim layers that made up one Hermione Jean Granger, Insufferable-Know-It-All. It also held the additional benefit of making her brain… Stop… She didn't hear the endless stream of information whirring about in her head, weighing doing this against doing that, potions ingredients, magical theory, incantations… Even snatches of Muggle literature she remembered from her childhood. The only thing that existed from the moment her hands met Ron's skin was just the two of them in that moment. The only language she recognized was the complex weaving of hands, lips, and murmured sighs and gasps. She could quite forget about Ron, lost in the clutches of her own gratification. At least until his hands landed on either side of her hips in mute entreaty. She almost hated the inevitable ending when the slipstreams of ideas crept back into her thoughts if she wasn't able to sink into sleep.

She'd agreed to follow Ron to bed with alacrity when they had finally returned to the Burrow. She didn't want to think about anything just then. And Ron deserved nothing less than all of her attention at that moment.

Ron smoothed her hair away from his face with a languid hand. 'You're awfully quiet tonight, hen,' he murmured drowsily.

'What?'

Ron bent his head and kissed Hermione's bare shoulder, pulling her back against him. 'Usually you get a bit chatty about now. Kind of talk about whatever pops into your head, it seems like.'

'What should I do?'

Ron sighed and tugged on Hermione's hand until she rolled over to face him. 'You know what I think,' he told her.

'Is that what you really mean?'

'Mione, I want you to be happy. And finishing school… I think it'll make you happy.'

'But my parents…' Hermione said uncertainly.

'They'll understand. It's only a few months, then you've got the rest of your life.' Ron used a finger to tip up Hermione's chin so she could look at him. 'Do it,' he urged softly.

'You're not just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear, is it?'

Ron bit back an irritated retort. 'No.'

'But –'

Ron sat up, frowning down at Hermione. 'If you're not going to bother listening to my opinion, then why in Merlin's name did you ask for it?' he hissed.

'Because I value what you think.'

'Not right now, you're not…' Ron slid out of the bed, and snatched up his boxers from the welter of clothing on the floor. He yanked a t-shirt over his head and grabbed the worn dressing gown from a hook on the side of the wardrobe and clattered down the stairs, not caring if he hit every creaky stair on the way to the ground floor, leaving Hermione staring up at the ceiling.

* * *

Hermione woke up shivering against the chill. She blinked blearily before she remembered she had retreated to Ginny's room after it was obvious Ron wasn't going to return with any sort of haste. She snaked a hand out from under the heavy quilt and picked up the dressing gown she had dropped on the floor last night. After using her wand to put a Warming charm on it, Hermione dragged it on, still sitting in Ginny's bed, wrapping it around her in an attempt to thaw the knot in the pit of her stomach.

She reluctantly slid out of the bed and trudged up the stairs to the bathroom and tried the door. It was locked. She dropped to the edge of the step at the top of the landing and sat huddled in the recesses of her dressing gown, waiting. The door opened at length to reveal Ron, surrounded by dissipating clouds of steam and fully dressed. His mouth quirked with something Hermione couldn't identify and he slipped down the stairs, without a word.

She mentally shrugged and pushed herself to her feet to wash and dress for the day. She almost preferred it when Ron shouted at her than the silent treatment. That's how you knew a Weasley was truly angry. They didn't say a word.

Hermione supposed Ron had every right to be tetchy with her at the moment. She'd asked what he thought, then immediately dismissed it. Like he was one of those stuffed toys with the string in back – the kind where you pulled the string and a pre-recorded statement played while the string slowly receded back into the toy. She did love him, but it didn't mean she didn't wonder if he merely said what would get her to stop talking, just to avoid the entire discussion.

The truth was, she did want to go back.

And she didn't.

* * *

Hermione Apparated into the back garden of her parents' house, still no closer to a decision than she'd been that morning. She wearily pushed open the back door of the house and dropped her knapsack next to it. Following the sounds of her parents' voices, she trailed into the sitting room and flopped into a large armchair by the fire. Her mother looked up from where she sprawled on the sofa, idly scanning the Sunday paper. 'Have a nice visit, dear?'

'Yeah… I suppose.'

'Then why so glum?'

'Professor McGonagall told me I can still go back to school and finish.'

Jane lowered the paper with a frown. 'But isn't that a good thing?'

'Yeah. I guess.'

'So…? I imagine you're quite bored hanging around here all the time.'

'A little,' Hermione admitted reluctantly.

'So, what's the problem?'

'You just got home!' Hermione burst out. 'I missed an entire year with you, and I can't just leave again.'

Jane eyed Hermione for a moment. 'You were never this uncertain about leaving before,' she stated. 'You couldn't wait to go back.'

'But it's different this time,' insisted Hermione.

'We'll write,' Jane said. 'Just like we always have. And if what you told your father and me in Australia was true, it's perfectly safe to leave us alone now.' She ran a finger over a headline in the paper. 'And I don't think you'd be happy trying to go to uni. Most non-magic careers didn't seem to interest you before you went away to school as it was.' Jane's eyes narrowed. 'Didn't you get a letter in August about not having to finish school anyway and they'd let you start where ever you wanted?'

'Yes, and I turned them down.'

'But why?'

'Because I want to earn it…'

Jane swung her feet to the floor and tossed the paper into a large basket next to the sofa. 'You seem to have rather neatly painted yourself into a corner, dear. Unless you want to stay in this odd sort of suspension, unable to move forward, but not able to move backward. And you've never been able to leave anything unfinished. If you don't finish school, Hermione, I have a feeling you'll regret it. And leave your father and me out of the equation when you're trying to decide.' Jane ambled toward the door. 'Care for some tea?'

* * *

Hermione walked out of the post office in Diagon Alley with her head bent against the drizzly mist that seemed to have descended on London with a vengeance. She automatically turned and trudged down the length of the street to the shop and went inside. Ron was arguing with George about the placement of the products for the holidays and Hermione waited until George stormed off, the back of his neck bright red, before she approached Ron. 'I've sent my decision to McGonagall,' she said tentatively.

'That's nice.' Ron snagged a box off the counter and carried it to set of tall shelves and began to Banish the boxes of Deflagration Deluxe too the top shelf.

'I told her I was going back,' she said.

'Hm.' Ron went back to the counter and pulled out a ledger book, copying a list of ingredients into a smaller book.

'I'm leaving Saturday. Taking the Knight Bus.'

'Well, then, you ought to go get your things sorted, shouldn't you? I'm sure you have lots to do. Books to buy, new uniforms…' Ron closed the ledger book and crammed the smaller one into a pocket of his jeans. He pulled the magenta robes off and headed for the back.

Hermione nodded. 'Yeah. I do.'

Ron disappeared through the curtain and emerged a moment later, pulling his coat on as he walked out the front door, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

More than a week later, Hermione was idly stirring milk into her coffee at breakfast when owls began to stream into the Great Hall to deliver the morning post. She was surprised when a large barn owl dropped a badly-wrapped parcel next to her plate, sending cutlery skittering across the table. 'That looks like it's from Ron,' Ginny commented, dropping into the seat next to Hermione.

'How can you tell?' Hermione picked up the cup and cradled it between her hands. She had forgotten how chilly it could be in the school first thing.

Ginny flicked the haphazard wrapping job. 'There's more Spellotape on that package than paper. That's Ron's motto when it comes to wrapping gifts. The more Spellotape, the better.'

'That sounds about right,' Hermione murmured, setting her cup down and picking up the package. It was rather squishy. She ripped through the layers of brown paper and Spellotape, revealing a patch of bright orange. Curious, she pulled the rest of the paper away and Ron's beloved Cannons t-shirt spilled into her lap, along with a folded piece of parchment. Hermione thumbed open the slip of parchment and Ron's untidy scrawl skipped across the note.

_ You forgot something… _


	25. Stars At Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George stopped at the bottom of the steps that led to Katie's building. 'Thanks for asking me to come with you today. I had a great time. I haven't really been out in a long time. Mostly been just work and home.'
> 
> 'You ought to get out more often,' Katie quipped.
> 
> George tipped his head back and tried to see the stars through the lights of London on the other side of Diagon Alley. 'Really haven't felt like it much.'
> 
> 'Still not dating?'
> 
> George shrugged. 'Not really. Haven't really met anybody. Don't have the time, either.'
> 
> Katie opened the door. 'You somehow managed to spend most of the day with me, gumby,' she told him.
> 
> 'That's different.' George followed her up the stairs to her flat. 'We were working. Well, you were.'
> 
> 'Want some coffee or something before you go home? I think I've got some… Haven't been able to shop lately.'
> 
> 'Yeah…' George's voice died when he saw Summerby sitting outside Katie's door. 'Maybe some other time. I ought to be getting home. G'night, Katie.' George fled down the stairs and Disapparated to the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This takes place the same day as chapter 23 and most of 24 - the day Ron, Hermione, and Harry go to Hogsmeade to visit Ginny.

George leaned against the counter with a sigh. Once school started, things tended to slow down a lot, and dealing with owl orders was far easier than trying to deal with customers in person. He glanced up when the door opened to admit Katie and felt his face brighten considerably with a smile. 'Katie! What are you doing here? Can I interest you in a Daydream Charm?'

Katie rested her elbows on the counter. 'Got plans for today?'

George gestured expansively around the shop. 'This.'

Katie glanced around the shop at the few customers milling about the shelves. 'Looks exciting,' she commented dryly. 'Where's Ron?'

'Went up to Hogwarts with Hermione and Harry to see Gin. Hogsmeade weekend.'

'Why didn't you go?' Katie asked.

George's hand rose and fell in an abbreviated arc. 'Nah. First Quidditch game is coming up soon. I thought I'd go then.'

'Care to join me for lunch? There's a new place in Falmouth I'm reviewing. I could use another stomach, besides my own.'

George traced a blotch of ink on the counter. 'What about what's-his-name?'

'Martin doesn't like to try new things.'

'What is this place?'

Katie sighed and crossed her arms over the counter. 'It's Asian, mostly.'

George shrugged the bright magenta robes from his shoulders. 'I could eat some noodles,' he said. 'Oi! David, Sasha! I'm out!'

David poked his head through the curtain. 'Okay, George. You coming back later?'

George glanced at Katie. 'No.' He turned to David. 'In fact, why don't you and Sasha skive off for the rest of the day? Take some down time before it picks up again for Christmas hols?' He saw Katie giving him a thoughtful look. 'What?'

'How do you feel about doing dinner instead of lunch?'

'Why?'

Katie tapped the counter with an oval-shaped fingernail. 'I promised my mum I'd come by today, and it would be much easier if I did it in the afternoon.'

'Well, if you give me the name of this place, I'll meet you at say, six?'

Katie gave George another one of those thoughtful looks. 'Why don't you come with me?'

George glanced down at his crumpled shirt and worn jeans. 'I'm not really dressed to meet family…'

Katie waved him off. 'You're fine. My parents are… unconventional.'

George shook his head. 'At least let me pop home and change my shirt. I think this one has a stain on it from when I tried to make Fever Fudge from memory before we reopened…' He flipped up the hem and examined a large purple splotch near a buttonhole.

Katie nodded. 'Meet you in front of my place in thirty minutes?'

'Okay.' George waited until Katie left the shop and then darted into the alley behind the shop. He Apparated to the Burrow and ran full-tilt toward the back door of the house. 'Mum!' he yelled. 'Mum!'

'What's the matter?' Molly stopped George's headlong rush into the kitchen by grabbing a sleeve.

'Clean shirt? Ironed?'

'In the cupboard…'

George kissed Molly noisily on the cheek. 'Thanks, Mum!' He started to run up the stairs but stopped and barreled back to Molly, nearly lifting her off the ground by the sheer force of his embrace.

'Oh my. What's all this?' Molly gently patted George's back.

George drew back a little. 'Just something good, innit?'

'Ah. Well, then. Am I waiting up tonight?'

'Probably not.' George's smile grew crooked, but he ran up to Percy's old room and grabbed the first clean, ironed shirt his hand landed on. In minutes, he had pulled the clean shirt on in place of the discarded on, and changed his jeans for a pair of decent-looking trousers, then found himself pacing the street in front of Katie's building.

Katie emerged a few minutes later. 'I thought you were just going to change your shirt,' she teased.

'It didn't go with the jeans,' George retorted. 'Ready?'

Katie hesitated, and to George's surprise, plopped on the stoop of her building. 'I need to explain something first… About my family…'

'Oh. Well. All right…' George joined Katie on the steps, their shoulders brushing companionably.

Katie smiled nervously. 'Well, it's just… My parents are a little... erm... eccentric in the wizarding world.'

George snorted. 'Um. Hi. My dad?'

Katie shook her head. 'More than that…' She took a deep breath. 'They don't use magic for things they can do themselves. Like cooking and washing up. My mum and dad both have one Muggle parent. And their magic parents weren't very good with magic to begin with, so while they were at Hogwarts, their Muggle parents insisted they take Muggle classes as well. All the way through their O-levels. Through the post, actually. Just in case magic didn't pan out, you see.'

'What's that? O-levels…?'

'Sort of like N.E.W.T.s,' Katie replied. 'They did it mostly over the summers and when they could at school. They were actually from the same village, too, so their families knew each other. In the end, Dad decided he didn't want to go into a wizarding career path, so he went to uni and earned a degree in literature. Mum actually trained to be a Healer. Got all the way through it and quit. It was the height of the first war, and too many of her friends had died. While she was working on them or before she could get to them. Or disappeared. It was too much for her. So she trained as a midwife. She much prefers being there at the beginning of life.'

'Why didn't she stay with St. Mungo's or work at a Healer in a wizarding village and do that?' George wondered.

'I think she'd had enough of it. The fighting and politics… Both her and Dad. So they moved out to Oxborough. Dad got a job working in a library and tutoring some of the older children who were taking their O-levels. Mum does a lot of the births out there. Muggle and wizarding. They had me, then when I was almost six, they had my brother Timothy.'

George frowned. 'I don't remember you having a brother at school…'

'I don't,' Katie said so softly, George had to strain to hear her. 'He's… Different. He's going to be fifteen on Christmas,' she added. 'But he functions like he's six.'

George blinked. 'Oh.'

Katie exhaled slowly. 'Yeah. Timothy's the sweetest kid in Britain. But he's an eighty-pound six-year old. And like a six-year old, he loses control of his magic when he's upset. If he goes into the village with Mum or Dad, and he sees a toy or sweetie he wants, he raises an unholy fuss about it. Has a tantrum when he doesn't get it, because he doesn't understand he can't have it. Most of the time, we can calm him down with the promise of a story or film on the video, but sometimes…' She shook her head.

'Things just explode. Literally,' George finished for her.

'Yeah.' Katie stared into the street, watching the human traffic mill and seethe in front of them. 'After he was born, they took him to every Muggle doctor or Healer they knew to see if something could be done. But the answer was always no…'

George nodded. 'All right.' He stood up and held out a hand to Katie. 'So how did I earn the honor of meeting your family?'

'You still want to go?' Katie sounded incredulous. Timothy could be quite a lot at one time.

'Well…' George shifted from foot to foot. 'Yeah.'

Katie took George's proffered hand and allowed him to help her stand up. 'Thanks…' she said shyly.

'So why hasn't what's-his-face been to meet them?'

'It's a long story,' Katie sighed. 'I don't think he'd understand about Timothy. Not that he's completely insensitive,' she added quickly. 'Timothy's just a little difficult for some people to understand…'

George bit back the comment he was about to blurt, and instead offered his arm to Katie. 'Lead on,' he said gallantly. Katie wound her fingers through his and Apparated them both to a lane leading out to a small cottage outside Oxborough.

'Katie!' A small figure darted out of the front garden and hurtled toward Katie at full speed. She pulled her hand from George's and visibly braced herself. A small boy threw himself at Katie, making her stagger a few steps. 'Katie! You're home!'

'Just for tea, Tim,' Katie said softly, winding her arms around the boy and nuzzling the top of his honey-blonde hair. After a few moments, she managed to extricate herself and turned Timothy toward George. 'Hey, I'd like you to meet someone. Tim, this is my friend, George. George, this is my younger brother, Timothy.'

George crouched down so he could be at eye-level with Timothy. He held out a hand in greeting. 'Hiya.' Timothy wore a pair of glasses with thick lenses that magnified his already-large eyes. His features were oddly flattened, but he smiled at George with an expression that lacked any sort of guile at all.

Timothy gazed from George's outstretched hand to his face, confusion clouding his sunny smile. 'Shake his hand, Tim,' Katie urged in a whisper. Timothy immediately offered a grubby paw to George, who took it and gave it a firm hand shake.

'It's nice to meet you, Timothy,' George said gravely.

Timothy turned his wide gaze back to Katie. 'Katie!' he whispered loudly. 'He's missin' an ear!'

'Shhh!' Katie's face bore a distinctly scandalized expression. 'Timothy, it's not nice to say things like that!' She looked at George. 'I'm so sorry…' she said.

George's mouth quirked in a half sort of smile. 'No worries, Katie.' He transferred his attentions to Timothy. 'It's a shame, not having an ear, isn't it? Means I can't do this.' George pulled a Sickle from his pocket and showed it to Timothy. He let his fingers brush against one of Timothy's ears, then displayed his empty hands to him.

'Where'd it go?' Timothy demanded, pulling at his right ear.

'Right here.' George grinned and let the fingers of his other hand brush against the outside of Timothy's left ear. He held up the Sickle. 'In one ear and out the other.'

Timothy's eyes grew round and he patted his ears. 'How'd you do that?'

'Magic.' George handed Timothy the Sickle.

'Katie!' A small woman swathed in a large woolen shawl had come from the house. 'I thought you were coming later.'

'I changed my plans,' Katie said with a shrug.

'Ah.' She turned to George. 'You must be Martin, then.'

'Mum, that's not Martin,' Katie mumbled, clearly mortified. 'This is George Weasley.'

'Oh, sorry about that.' Katie's mother smiled and held out a small hand. 'I'm Belinda Bell. And do call me Belinda. People call me Mrs. Bell and I start looking for my mother-in-law.' She shuddered delicately.

'Mum!' Katie covered her face with her hands.

'Oh, come off it, Katie. She was a miserable old bat who could barely do a Summoning spell.'

George took Belinda's hand. 'It's lovely to meet you.'

'Let's get inside, shall we?' Katie's mother began to shoo them toward the house. 'I might have to leave before tea, though.'

'Why?' Katie held the garden gate open.

'The vicar's daughter is due any second.'

Katie's mouth dropped open. 'Tabitha Campbell is pregnant?' she breathed. 'How did I not know this…?

'Well, it's been a bit busy around here lately,' Belinda said airily. 'Poor Tibs. She's been shut up in that vicarage for weeks now. That mother of hers won't let her out.'

'Why?' George was becoming fascinated by the conversation.

'Well, Mrs. Campbell is the rather prim sort. Wouldn't know what a condom was if it slapped her in the face,' Belinda grumbled. 'Refused to let Tibs take part in those classes at school. Anyone could have told her Tibs would end up pregnant before she was twenty with the way she carried on with Alexander Griffin. The vicar's all right,' she told George. 'Comes over every once in a while to watch Tim, so Peter and I can go out for a bit. But Mrs. Campbell, oh no… She's ashamed of Tibs, like this was forty years ago.' Belinda gestured to a round table. 'Sit yourself down, then. Timmy, dear, go find Daddy, all right?'

'Kay…' Timothy shuffled down the corridor, peering into each room as he passed it.

'Mum's somewhat forceful in her opinions…' Katie whispered.

'You have met my mother, haven't you?' George replied. 'Molly Weasley has an opinion for everything.'

'Timothy says Katie's here?' A large, bearded man ambled casually into the kitchen, looking a bit preoccupied.

'Hi, Dad…' Katie waved from her chair.

'Ah, hello there, Katie. And who's your friend?' Peter began to slice bread for sandwiches, gesturing at George with the knife.

'This is George Weasley. George, this is my dad…' Katie had slipped a little further down in her chair.

Peter set the knife down and peered at George. 'Oh, _you're_ George Weasley… You used to come see Katie…' He caught George's petrified expression and picked up the knife once more. 'No, I guess it wasn't you. Probably got you confused with someone else then…'

George settled back into the chair with a relieved sigh.

'So how do you know our Katie?' Belinda asked.

'We were in the same house at school. Played Quidditch together until I left.'

'And what do you do?' she continued.

'I own a shop. I opened it with my brother a bit more than two years ago.'

'A shop? Really?' Peter set a plate of sandwiches down on the table. 'What kind of shop?'

'A joke shop,' George murmured. 'Mostly jokes. But a few games and toys. Some cosmetics, but that was my brother's idea… Sells fairly well, though.'

'How's business, then?' Peter handed a stack of plates to Katie, who began distributing them around the table.

'Good. We managed to buy the building last year, before the war. We do a lot of owl orders between school holidays, especially since Zonko's went out of business.' George squirmed a little. He hated talking about how well the shop did.

'Dad, lay off him, will you?' Katie hissed. 'We're not dating. George is just a friend.'

Peter and Belinda exchanged glances. 'Right,' Katie's father murmured, before doling out cups and glasses.

The telephone rang, startling George. He watched in wonder as Belinda picked it up began to speak. 'Hello? All right, Tibs, just calm down, then. How far apart are they? Hmmm. Yes. Don't panic, dearie. I'll be along in a bit. What's that? Yes, do. Just don't eat anything too heavy. Yes, Tibs, it'll be fine. All right, then.' She shook her head, replacing the telephone. 'Always come at the most inconvenient times, babies… I trust you can get the rest of tea together, Peter.'

Peter snorted, pouring milk into a glass for Timothy. 'Been getting tea on by myself for years now. Can even tie my shoelaces without help.'

'It was a pleasure to meet you, George,' Belinda said, as she dashed out the door.

Somewhere in the house, Timothy heard his mother leave and burst into loud, angry wails that took Peter a good twenty minutes to soothe, while Katie laid out the rest of the meal and jabbed her wand at the table, to make sure everything stayed fresh. 'Tim doesn't like it when Mum has to leave suddenly like that,' she explained to George apologetically.

George shrugged. 'Don't worry about it.'

* * *

George gazed at the array of plates on the table before closing his eyes and stabbing his fork at something. 'Why did you order so much?' he asked.

'Have to try more than two things. If it's any good, I'll end up taking the rest of it home. Rice noodles are good for breakfast.'

'That's just disgusting.'

'It's good. Leftover Thai and Chinese takeaway make the best breakfast the next day.'

George grimaced. 'Does your mum know you do that?'

Katie smirked at George. 'Who do you think taught me to do it?'

'So why haven't you taken what's-his-name to meet you parents?' George gingerly chewed something and gave Katie a stricken look and pointed to a far plate with his fork and shook his head vigorously. Katie gave him a look, before dipping her fork into it and sampling the noodles.

'Don't care for the wam yu sen, George?'

'It's a little sour for me…' he muttered.

'Maybe it's an acquired taste,' Katie murmured. 'I eat this kind of stuff all the time.'

'So, you haven't answered my question.'

Katie sighed and dipped her spoon into a bowl of soup. 'Does it always have to be about the future?'

'What?'

'Why can't I just date someone for laughs? I'm not interested in marrying what's-his-name. Not now, and not ever.'

'So why bother…?' George picked up his tea and sipped it.

'Look, George, I go out with what's-his-name because I don't terribly mind his company. He's not even remotely marriage material. It's why I don't take him home. Because I don't want Timothy to start to like him, then when we're not together anymore, he'll get upset.'

'How do you explain taking me over, then?'

Katie set her spoon down. 'Could we not talk about this? Not right now. Just suffice to say that I see my relationship with you lasting longer than with what's-his-name.'

'Only because I'm willing to try some incredibly sour salad with glass noodles for you.'

'Yeah, that's it.' Katie nudged the plate containing the wam yu sen toward George. 'Give it a second try. It grows on you.'

'Yeah, like fungus,' George snorted. 'Isn't your birthday coming up?' he asked, changing the subject.

'In April.'

'Got plans yet?'

Katie breathed an internal sigh of relief. George couldn't possibly know how close his remarks were cutting. 'Thought I'd have a few friends at the Leaky Cauldron. Drinks, dinner.'

'You do realize that's five months away,' George pointed out.

'Well, I thought I'd ask Ang to come if she could. It gives her time to get things arranged to come back for a visit.' Katie toyed with her fork. 'Would you come…?'

'Of course I will.' George glanced at his watch. 'You know, if we pick it up a bit, we can catch the Falmouth game. They're playing the Cannons, the poor sods. Ought to be a quick game, though, unless Falmouth just wants to toy with them. And knowing Falmouth, they'll do it just for the enjoyment of the head game.'

Katie stared at a point over George's shoulder. 'I haven't been to a Quidditch game since I finished school…' she said wistfully.

'Let's go. It's a late game anyway. Doesn't start until nine.'

'How are we going to get tickets this late?'

George beckoned for Katie to come closer. 'I know the owner. Well, I don't know him like we mates or anything, but his kid really wanted a Pygmy Puff, so I promised him the first one when we got them back in stock in October. He sent me a voucher for tickets any time I wanted.'

Katie snorted. 'They're probably going to be some shite seats where you can't see anything. Blocked view and all.'

'Probably, but it's better than nothing.'

Katie studied her watch for a moment. 'It's eight-thirty now,' she said. 'Have you eaten enough?'

'To give you my opinions?' George asked incredulously.

'First impression, then. We can come back later and give it another go. Don't have to have the review written for another few weeks.'

'I'd like that,' George responded, only slightly surprised to find that he did.

'Come on. Even if the game only lasts for five minutes, it'll be the most exciting thing I've done in ages.'

George pushed his chair back with a muffled groan. He'd eaten far more than the usually did. 'What's-his-name doesn't do things like this? Come eat some noodles and go to a spontaneous Quidditch match?'

'What's-his-name prefers to listen on the wireless,' Katie murmured, counting out Sickles. 'Doesn't really care for the unpredictability of the weather. Said he got enough of that rubbish at school.' She looked up at George, who was scowling at her. 'What?'

'Nothing,' George sighed. 'Ready to go?'

'Yeah.'

At the stadium George stepped up to the ticket booth. 'Hiya is it sold out?'

The tired-looking wizard shook his head. 'Not this one. It's the Cannons, innit? Won't be sold out unless the Cannons win the League Cup sudden-like.'

'Brilliant,' George responded, pulling his wallet from his pocket, and extracting a small slip of parchment. He pushed it through the opening in the window and the wizard glanced down at it in a bored manner, before straightening.

'Oi! Willie!' A spotty young man slouched into view. 'Take this gentleman and his lady friend up to Mr. Calhoun's box straightaway.'

Katie gave George a look. 'Who's Mr. Calhoun?'

George gave her an equally startled look. 'The team owner.' He blinked at the parchment waving in front of his nose, before grasping it in numb fingers.

Willie motioned for the two of them to follow him up a dizzying array of stairs, spiraling up to large box. 'Here you are, sir, madam…'

'Thanks,' George told him in a slightly dazed voice. He opened the door for Katie, then ducked in after her into a richly appointed box.

'Ah, Weasley!' a florid voice boomed. 'It's about time you came for a game.'

'Yeah…' George said weakly, taking a seat next to Katie.

'Don't you have a sister playing at the school? Jan or something like that?' Calhoun continued.

'Ginny. She's the Gryffindor captain this year.'

Calhoun nodded. 'I hear she's quite the player. Versatile.' He eyed George for a moment. 'What about that Harry Potter? I hear he's quite tight with your family.'

George gulped and gazed down at his clasped hands. 'He's not interested in playing professionally,' he allowed.

Calhoun snickered. 'How much?'

'Excuse me?'

'How much will it take to get Potter to play Seeker for my team?' Calhoun asked bluntly.

George's mouth twisted in near revulsion. 'Trust me, Mr. Calhoun; it's not about the money.'

'Got principals, then, eh?'

'It's not that,' George said quietly. 'He just likes the quiet life.'

'I can understand that,' said a new voice. It came from a nondescript man sitting in the shadows. 'Harold Shively. Owner of the Chudley Cannons. You're a Weasley, did you say?'

'Yeah, George. George Weasley.'

Katie began to giggle softly. 'Bond. James Bond,' she said in an undertone.

'Who?' George asked.

'Nothing.' Katie continued to giggle to herself.

Shively turned back to George. 'You know Charlie Weasley?'

'Yeah, he's my older brother.'

'What happened to him? It's like he was poised to play for England just about, then he fell off the map.'

'He went to Romania. Worked as a dragon keeper there for a while. Quit when the war got bad and came back. He's in Hogsmeade right now. Helping to rebuild the school.' Suddenly George smiled. 'My youngest brother would have a litter of Kneazles if he knew I was talking to you.'

Shively's bushy eyebrows rose. 'Really?'

George nodded. 'Ron loves the Cannons. Won't stand to hear criticism about them, either.'

Shively nodded. 'In that case…' He pulled a card from his pocket and scribbled something on it with a quill, then handed it to George. 'Give him that. Tell him he's welcome to come see us any time.'

George tucked the card carefully into his shirt pocket. 'I will. Thanks. He'll be over the moon.' Occasionally he ran his fingers over the pocket, just to assure himself it was still there. He mentally shook his head at what had transpired in that box. And it all started with making sure an eight-year old girl got a Pygmy Puff.

* * *

'That was…' Katie trailed off, walking next to George down the quiet empty cobblestones of Diagon Alley.

'Brutal,' George finished for her.

'I knew Falmouth played dirty, I just didn't know how much.' Katie shuddered.

'Their Seeker should have just caught the bloody Snitch instead of taunting them with it for an hour…' George stopped at the bottom of the steps that led to Katie's building. 'Thanks for asking me to come with you today. I had a great time. I haven't really been out in a long time. Mostly been just work and home.'

'You ought to get out more often,' Katie quipped.

George tipped his head back and tried to see the stars through the lights of London on the other side of Diagon Alley. 'Really haven't felt like it much.'

'Still not dating?'

George shrugged. 'Not really. Haven't really met anybody. Don't have the time, either.'

Katie opened the door. 'You somehow managed to spend most of the day with me, gumby,' she told him.

'That's different.' George followed her up the stairs to her flat. 'We were working. Well, you were.'

'Want some coffee or something before you go home? I think I've got some… Haven't been able to shop lately.'

'Yeah…' George's voice died when he saw Summerby sitting outside Katie's door. 'Maybe some other time. I ought to be getting home. G'night, Katie.' George fled down the stairs and Disapparated to the Burrow.

He trudged up to the house, surprised to find Ron sitting in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea. 'You're still up?'

'Can't sleep.' Ron stared moodily into his cup. 'Why do they ask what you think, and then when you tell them, they think you're lying?'

George reached into the cupboard and pulled down a cup. He didn't have to ask the identity of "they." He poured himself a cup of tea. 'Dunno. Why do they date blokes who are obviously wrong for them?' He sipped the tea and snagged one of the biscuits from the plate in front of Ron. 'How's Gin?'

'Fine.' Ron picked up a biscuit and began to break it into pieces. 'She's doing great.' He shoved one of the pieces into his mouth. 

George reached into his shirt pocket. 'Before I forget…' He slid the small card across the table toward Ron.

'What's this?' Frowning, Ron picked up the card and turned it over in his hands. 'You met Harold Shively? _The_ Harold Shively?'

'Yeah. I had some tickets to see Falmouth and I was talking about how much you loved the Cannons. Falmouth was playing the Cannons tonight, you see –'

'Yeah, I know,' interrupted Ron.

'And he heard me talking about you. Said to give you that.'

'It's an offer to come see them play any time I want…' Ron breathed.

'Seems fan loyalty means something after all,' George told him. George finished his tea and quickly washed the cup. 'Don't stay up too late.' Ron shook his head, still staring in dazed reverence at the card.

George slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor and paused in front of the door of his old room. He put a hand on the doorknob, then slowly removed it. He felt bruised enough by his day. He didn't want to add any more.


	26. Meeting Halfway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry barked in bitter laughter. 'Yeah, but I don't think the Wizengamot cares. They're going to excoriate everyone they can.' His mouth twisted suddenly as he fought back surprising tears. 'What are they going to do? Dig him up so they can flog him?'

Arthur stuck his head inside Percy's office. 'You doing anything for dinner tonight?'

Percy shook his head. 'Tinned soup. I still don't understand how Ron can cook and I can barely heat up soup without it exploding,' he sighed, perplexed by such an oddity.

'Come home with us, then.' Arthur's head tilted toward the corridor, where Harry waited, leaning against the wall.

Percy's eyes dropped to the blotter on his desk. 'I don't think I ought to…' he mumbled.

'Why not?' Arthur sidled into the office and closed the door.

'You can't tell me you haven't heard…' Percy sighed.

'I have,' Arthur acknowledged. 'But I want you to tell me.'

Percy picked up a quill and began to twiddle it between his fingers, carelessly smearing ink over them. 'I'm being investigated for what I did here last year,' he choked. He looked up, his eyes wet behind his glasses. 'Dad, I swear, I didn't believe in what they were doing…'

'I know you didn't,' Arthur soothed, pulling a chair around to Percy's side of the desk, and dropping into it.

'I thought… I thought when  _ he _ came back, Harry was making things up, that he really was mental, and I was so  _ stupid _ .' Percy sniffed, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. 'Then they started throwing around accusations, and you were attacked in the Department of Mysteries… And I never came to see you, or even bothered to ask. I didn't speak to you for nearly three years… How can you just pretend it didn't happen? You and Mum both, you just act like I never tried to separate myself from you…'

Arthur dug a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Percy. 'You're my son, Percy,' he said quietly, as if it explained everything. Percy's eyes narrowed over the edge of the snowy cloth in confusion. 'Perce, I may not like the decisions you've made or will make. But I will always love you. Even when you were being a wanker. I've loved you since your mother told me about you.' Arthur pulled Percy closer. 'You're my son. Nothing you can say or do will change that…' He pressed a kiss to Percy's forehead, like he was a small boy, waking up from a nightmare.

'What's going to happen to me…?' Percy asked in a small voice.

'I don't know,' Arthur admitted. 'But nobody can argue with you about last year. You didn't have many options that didn't end in a slow, painful death for yourself. If you have any weaknesses, Perce, it's that you're too hidebound by rules and regulations. Sometimes, you have to break them, because there isn't a precedent for what's happening outside this office.'

Percy swiped his hands over his face. 'I thought that if we did things the "right" way, it would all work out, and that you lot were just undermining Fudge, then Scrimgeour.' He blinked and two fat tears rolled down his face. 'And I just couldn't believe you and Mum would ever think the Ministry wanted me to spy on you…' He blinked a few more times, his eyelids fluttering over his eyes, and more tears spilled down his face. 'I'm going to lose my position, aren't I?'

'I don't know…'

'I'm so sorry, Dad…' Percy wept, covering his face with his hands.

'At the very least, son, they're going to want to make sure you've learned from your mistakes about following someone blindly like you have. They're not going to want sycophants in here any more.' Arthur fished another handkerchief from his pocket and pulled Percy's hands away from his face, and began to gently blot his cheeks. Percy peered at him through his smudged glasses, his dark eyes red and swollen. 'And you could very well lose your place here at the very worst. You could be demoted so far down, that you'll have to take orders from Harry, and he's barely above a trainee. Or you could be sacked.' Arthur tugged Percy's glasses off and began to polish them on the edge of his cloak. 'But could you tell me something, son?'

Percy gulped and nodded. 'All right…'

'Did you ever think about what might happen if the Ministry lost and the Order came out on top?' Arthur asked bluntly.

'I…' Percy inhaled slowly. 'I didn't,' he confessed in a low voice. 'I mean, there weren't that many of you, comparatively speaking, and you had to work so far underground, you might as well have been a clandestine student organization.'

Arthur let that information sink in for a moment before he handed Percy's glasses back to him and stood up. 'No matter what happens, your mum and I will stand behind you…' He replaced the chair and put a hand on the doorknob. 'Now then. Come have a nice dinner. You can't keep eating tinned soup or beans. It's bad enough Charlie does that and likes it.' He opened the door, still chattering about Charlie. 'I thought your mum was going to keel over when she found out he eats cold tinned beans straight from the tin over the sink…' He waited in the corridor for Percy to gather his things and join him and Harry. 'Ready? I think your mum's made a lovely lamb stew for dinner tonight.'

'Lamb stew's my favorite,' Percy said softly, an unmistakable quiver running through his voice.

Arthur threw a smile over his shoulder. 'I know.' He punched the button for the lift and waited whistling softly, the picture of patience.

Harry took an unobtrusive step closer to Percy, and under the guise of examining the clasp of his bag, muttered, 'They just want to make sure you're not going to undermine Kingsley… A lot of people you worked with and trusted are due to come up for trial after the holidays in January.'

Percy felt his face draw into an expression of frank disapproval. 'Should you tell me that?' he asked tightly.

Harry shrugged. 'Probably not. But otherwise you'll obsess over it for ages… I thought they ought to have done this months ago, but I'm practically a trainee, so what do I know, right?' He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 'It might get nasty,' he cautioned.

'Do they know how nasty it could get?' Percy asked, indicating Arthur's back.

One of Harry's brows rose into his fringe. 'It's why I told them.'

'Oh.' Percy glanced at Harry, who wore a smoothly indifferent expression. 'Thanks…'  


* * *

Percy leaned back in his chair, saying nothing, but listening to the bustle of conversation around him. Bill and Fleur had come to join them for dinner and Bill was talking about how Charlie had gotten a position on a dragon reservation in Wales, while George and Ron discussed what might sell best at Christmas. Fleur was attempting to make overtures toward Molly, who still wasn't quite sure what to make of her daughter-in-law. Percy reckoned it might have more to do with raising all those boys, than any real dislike. As feminine as Molly was, she never really had to deal with anyone quite like Fleur. In fact, Molly could be as boisterous as the twins had been. But she'd never admit it. Fleur was obviously making a concerted effort to not pass judgment on everything around her. Percy wondered what she'd been like before she'd married Bill.  _ Something else I missed _ , he sighed to himself.

'Oh, Percy!' Molly exclaimed. 'I quite forgot…' She rose from her chair and hurried into the sitting room, returning a moment later with a bundle of wool. 'I thought you could do with a new one…' She dropped a burgundy jumper in his lap.

Percy unfurled it with shaking hands and swallowed hard, remembering the ones he'd sent back in a fit of pique. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled like Molly – the comforting scent of baking with the underlying scent of his mother that defined home to him. His fingers convulsed around the wool and he abruptly stood up. 'Excuse me for a moment, will you?' he mumbled, stumbling blindly into the back garden, heading for the relative shelter of the apple tree. He wrapped his arms around it, needing the support it gave him, lest he tumble to the cold, muddy ground. Percy pressed his forehead to the bark, a jagged edge digging into his skin.

'Perce?' George's soft voice carried on the crisp November night, loud in the stillness of the valley around them.

'I can't do it… I can't do it… I can't do it…' Percy moaned.

'Do what?' George asked, coming to stand next to Percy.

'Let them pretend the last three years never happened!'

'Trust me, they're not,' George said shortly. 'But you realized your mistake in the end, didn't you? I don't think it was as easy as Dad says it was for him to forgive you.' George held up a hand to forestall the torrent of words that he could see bubbling to Percy's lips. 'They won't forget. None of us will,' he added, almost as an afterthought. 'But we know you regretted some of the decisions you made and we…' George stopped and took a deep breath. 'We forgave you.' He scuffed the toe of his trainer into the half-frozen mud. 'Bloody poet was right,' he muttered gruffly.

'What poet?'

'The quality of mercy is not strain'd./It droppeth as the gentle rain from the heaven…' George looked up with a bashful grin. 'I've been reading a lot lately…' George brushed aside the unlikely image of him reading a book that didn't involve explaining how to make something explode. 'We all have to move on at some point, Perce. And you can beat yourself up for the past, if you want. But don't do it in front of Mum and Dad. They went through enough before…' With that he turned and trudged back into the house, his arms wrapped around his body.

* * *

Ginny dashed into the seventh year girls' dormitory and began to shed her soaked clothing, shivering violently. She rushed for the bathroom, pausing long enough to snatch a clean towel then continued her headlong dash into the bathroom. She headed for the closest shower cubicle and twisted the hot water tap, dancing in impatience waiting for the water gushing from the shower to heat up. 'Cold, cold, cold, cold…' she chanted. It had started to rain during the practice. Conditions had rapidly deteriorated from that point. The rain swiftly changed to freezing rain, that coated their broom handles with a slick layer of ice. Even now, Ginny could hear the ice in her hair crackling as it melted. After that, the rain became sleet that stung as it hit their exposed skin. Ginny knew they could use the weather training, but they didn't need it that badly. She wasn't going to risk anyone sustaining an injury. She ducked under the scalding spray, sighing in relief.

It was going to be a long night. Her Defense class had to make up some of last year's missed lessons, and despite the solid foundation the DA had given them; there were still large gaps in their Defensive magic education. Professor Carter had no choice but to double up the amount of work he set upon them. She still had a large pile of Potions homework that she'd been neglecting all week and her Astronomy class was meeting at eleven on top of the Astronomy tower for two hours. And Professor Trentham was just as exacting her in expectations of them as McGonagall had been.

However, if Ginny thought she was going to have a late night ahead of her, Hermione's was bound to be even longer. Hermione had passed the exams McGonagall had given her when she came back to school, but to Hermione's dismay, her marks had mostly been mere "Exceeds Expectations", not the "Outstandings" she had imagined. So in true Hermione fashion, she spent every free hour in the library studying. Some of it wasn't her overachieving nature, but the amount of additional assignments she had to complete, in order to catch up with the rest of them. Not that she needed the extra work, but the teachers seemed to want to have something besides that one exam to evaluate her progress from her sixth year.

Ginny stood under the hot water, waiting for the numbness in her hands and feet to dissipate, chewing her lip. Grades weren't that important to Ginny. She could take or leave them. Nobody on a Quidditch team cared about her N.E.W.T.s. She only took any amount of interest in her upcoming exams in June because Molly cared about them so much. Something else was bothering Hermione, but she wouldn't talk about it. Ginny knew she and Ron had had a spat of some sort before Hermione had come back to school, but she'd heard about it from Harry's letters, so she only knew what Harry knew. Although Ginny didn't see why it would bother Hermione. She and Ron bickered about everything from the color of the sky to whether or not Ron ought to put on a jacket when it was cold outside.

Regretfully, Ginny turned off the taps and grabbed the towel, hastily drying herself. If she hurried, she could take a few minutes to add more to her ongoing letter to Harry. She wrapped the towel around her body and walked into the dormitory. Hermione was sitting cross-legged on her bed, books and parchment spread around her. 'Hi,' Ginny said brightly.

Hermione jumped and slammed a book shut. 'Hi…' she said, stuffing the small book into her bag.

'Don't stop on my account,' Ginny quipped, digging through her trunk for a clean uniform.

'I'm not,' Hermione mumbled. 'Do you have your Arithmancy notes from September? I've borrowed Luna's, but she seems to take notes in a code only she knows…'

Ginny perched on the edge of her bed to work the thick, black tights up over her feet. 'Yeah. That's why I've never borrowed notes from her.' Ginny stood up to wriggle the tights past her knees, then slipped the dark grey pleated skirt over them. 'They're in the notebook on the night table…' she said, buttoning the skirt, then adjusting the waistband. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of a shirt and thoughtfully regarded Hermione while she buttoned it. 'You can take a night off, you know.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Can't.'

'Yes, you can.' Ginny threaded the scarlet-and-gold striped tie through the collar and began to knot it. 'You know… When Harry and Ron were here, you at least took some time off.'

'Only because I had to go with them to keep an eye on their shenanigans,' Hermione snorted. 'Someone had to clean up after them.'

'But you still did it,' Ginny persisted.

'Maybe after the holidays,' Hermione said reluctantly.

Ginny pulled a jumper over her head and brushed her hair. 'Will you at least take a break Saturday morning…? It's the first Gryffindor match… Harry and Ron are coming, and I think George is, as well.'

'I'll try…'

'No, you're going to do it!' Ginny snapped. 'You can't just keep yourself busy with books and studies. At some point you'll have to join the rest of us.' She slid her feet into her shoes. 'And in the end, it's not about how many Outstanding marks you receive on your N.E.W.T.s, it's about how much you enjoyed getting there…' Ginny picked up her scarf and cloak and threw them over her arm, then slung her bag over a shoulder. 'I'll be in the library…'

Hermione waited until Ginny's footfalls faded, then pulled the small book from her bag, fingering the cover of the book. She had to pick a translation project for Ancient Runes for the next term. The others were using the recommended books by Professor Babbling, but Hermione had thought about translating the copy of  _ Tales of Beedle the Bard _ Dumbledore had left her. The problem was, it brought up all sorts of unpleasant memories from the previous year.

Sighing, Hermione replaced the book, and slid off her bed to find Ginny's notes.

* * *

Harry tapped a quill on his desk, before pulling a piece of parchment toward him.

_ 18 November 1998 _

_ Gary Durbin, Headmaster _ _   
_ _ Salem Institute _ _   
_ _ Salem, Massachusetts _

_   
_ _ Dear Mr. Durbin, _

_ I have become aware that one of your former teachers is now the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Given the somewhat sketchy character of some of the recent witches and wizards who have held that position, I'm sure you can understand my concern about someone who is virtually an unknown quantity taking it over. _

_ If at all possible, I'd like to see his employment records from the Salem Institute. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Harry J. Potter, Auror _ _   
_ _ Ministry of Magic _ _   
_ _ London, England _

Harry sealed the letter and tucked it into his pocket. He craned his head around the warren of cubicles until he found Peter Wilson, his immediate supervisor, muttering over a list of dates. 'Hey, Peter, I need to go take something to the post office…'

Peter glanced up, a small grin on his face. 'Letter for your girl?'

'Not exactly.' Harry tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. 'Something for work,' he allowed.

'Yeah, go on. Just be back by two.'

'Why two?'

Peter tucked a quill behind his ear. 'They want to talk to you about Severus Snape.'

Harry felt his heart drop to his feet. 'W-w-why…?'

Peter's hands laced together and he rested them on top of his head, elbows jutting out to the side. 'They haven't decided whether or not to try him yet. Apparently, you know some information that could completely exonerate him.' Peter eyed Harry narrowly. 'Do you?'

'Yeah…' Harry gently banged the toe of his boot against the edge of the cubicle's wall. 'What purpose would it serve?' he asked. 'To try him. He's dead, isn't he? Let him be dead…'

'Because it makes other people feel better,' Peter grumbled. 'Go do your errand, then, and just be in the Minister's office before two, all right?'

'Yeah, fine.' Harry trudged toward the lifts. He made his way to Diagon Alley and stepped into the post office, silently pushing the sealed letter across the counter.

'How quickly do you want it in the States?' the bored witch behind the counter asked.

'What's the fastest owl you have?' Harry replied quietly.

The witched looked up at the owls perched over her head. 'Hmmm. Got one that'll get to – Massachusetts, is it? – in two days. Ten Galleons.'

'Brilliant,' Harry muttered under his breath, pulling a moneybag from his coat pocket and counting out ten gold coins.

'Will you want a receipt for that?'

Harry shook his head. 'No, thank you.'

The witch beckoned to a huge grey owl and tied Harry's letter firmly to its leg. 'Go on then,' she told it. It nipped her hair and spread its wide wings and launched itself upwards and through the large circular window near the ceiling.

'How does it get there so fast?' Harry asked curiously.

'The ones that are meant for long-distance deliveries are charmed. Especially the ones meant to deliver in a couple of days.' The sound of someone clearing their throat made Harry turn around.

'Are you done here?' the witch behind him asked irritably.

'Erm… Yeah…' Harry stepped away from the counter and started to walk out of the post office. 'Thanks,' he called to the witch behind the counter. He glanced at his watch as he walked out of the door and wondered if it was too early to get Ron and George to stop for lunch. Molly had taken to packing a basket for them in the mornings, since neither of them bothered to stop for lunch if they had to fetch it from somewhere else. Business was starting to pick up again for the Christmas holidays and the shop was bustling with harried-looking witches, trying to find something appropriate for their children. Pygmy Puffs seemed to be popular with girls and for small children. A pale blue one currently snuggled against a tiny boy, making soft chirping sounds. Puffskeins and Pygmy Puffs loved small children. There were always bits of something clinging to their clothing and for some reason, if they were allowed to sleep with the child, the Puffskein or Pygmy Puff would unobtrusively snake their long, velvety tongue into the child's nose and eat his or her bogies. Arnold, Ginny's Pygmy Puff, had a thing for earwax.

'Hiya, Harry!' Ron called over the ruckus.

'Hi. Too early to eat?'

'Nah. I was about to take a break.' Ron knelt in front of the tiny boy. 'Once you get him home, you won't have to keep him in the cage, but until then, let's put him in it. He'll be all right.'

The little boy looked at Ron doubtfully. 'Are you sure?'

'Positive. My own sister has one.' The boy seemed to think about it, then allowed Ron to transfer the small, fluffy creature into a small, square cage with a small handle on the top so the child could carry it. Ron herded the boy up to the counter where his mother waited patiently to pay for it. As soon as the mother and little boy left, Ron and Harry slipped into the back. 'Mum's packed some sandwiches, I think,' Ron muttered, poking through a basket. 'And maybe some soup or leftover stew from the other night…'

'Snape's today,' Harry said suddenly.

Ron's hand froze, hovering over the basket. 'What?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'They're doing his hearing today.'

'That doesn't make sense,' Ron blurted. 'I mean, he's dead, isn't he?'

Harry barked in bitter laughter. 'Yeah, but I don't think the Wizengamot cares. They're going to excoriate everyone they can.' His mouth twisted suddenly as he fought back surprising tears. 'What are they going to do? Dig him up so they can flog him?'

Ron slowly set a sandwich down on the table. 'Harry… Is there something you're not telling me, mate?'

Harry dropped down on the tall stool next to the table. 'They don't have a reason to. Dumbledore was right about him. He was always on our side.'

Ron unwrapped a sandwich and pushed it across the table. 'D'you have any proof, then?'

'Just his memories,' Harry sighed. 'And there's no bloody way I'm going to allow them to see them,' he said fiercely.

'What if you have to?' Ron asked tentatively.

Harry prodded the sandwich. 'No. I'll figure something out, even if I have to take the entire damn Wizengamot to Hogwarts to talk to Dumbledore's portrait.'

'You think it'll come to that?'

'Knowing the Wizengamot, it might.' Harry pushed the sandwich away. 'I'm not very hungry,' he apologized. 'I think I'm just going to go back and figure out what I'm going to say.'

Ron nodded. 'Harry, if you want to… You know… talk later…'

The corner of Harry's mouth tipped up slightly. 'I know where to find you.' He slid off the stool and took a step away from the table. 'After dinner?'

'There's a pub down in the village,' Ron said. 'It's kind of quiet, if you don't want to be in the house…'

'Yeah… That would be good.' Harry slipped through the curtain and left the shop.

* * *

_ At least it's not Courtroom Ten _ , Harry thought sourly. Several members of the Wizengamot sat clustered around a large, heavy, rectangular table, that seemed to fill the room. Harry sat at one end, with Shacklebolt next to him, nervously rolling the hem of his jumper between his thumb and forefinger. To his enormous surprise, McGonagall strode through the door and took a seat on Harry's other side.

'Potter,' she said, by way of greeting.

'Professor…' he murmured, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Casting a gimlet eye at the gathered Wizengamot, McGonagall turned to Harry. 'What is this charade all about?' she asked archly, not bothering to lower her voice.

'To see if they can add Professor Snape to the list of people to try in January,' Harry told her, his voice quiet, but he could see a few Wizengamot members shift uneasily.

'But he's dead,' McGonagall snorted.

'Tell me something I don't know,' Harry muttered.

McGonagall leaned over Harry. 'I cannot believe you're allowing this disgusting display of law-enforcement continue, Kingsley,' she told the Minister sharply. 'I thought you had better scruples than that.'

'Yes, I am.' Shacklebolt shifted so he could face McGonagall. 'If Severus was truly innocent, he deserves to have his name cleared once and for all, and if this is how I can achieve it, then so be it.'

McGonagall's lips thinned in a manner Harry knew very well, and settled stiffly into the hard chair once more. 'Let's get on with it, then, shall we?'

A middle-aged witch Harry vaguely remembered from his hearing before his fifth year tapped the table with a small gavel. 'The Wizengamot calls this hearing to order on the eighteenth of November, nineteen ninety-eight, at two in the afternoon. We are here to determine whether or not one Severus Tobias Snape should be tried for crimes committed against wizarding Britain from the twenty-third of June, nineteen ninety-seven through the second of May, nineteen ninety-eight. The charges are as follows: the murder of Albus Dumbledore; an accomplice to the murder of Charity Burbage; accomplice to the torture of students at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…'

As her voice droned on and on, Harry could feel his face stiffening into a rictus of suppressed rage. 'Enough!' he blurted. 'He was a double agent. Do you think he'd have been alive at the very end if he'd allowed the slightest bit of what he was really after to leak through? Don't you think Voldemort would have killed him outright? He couldn't let his true feelings show any more than Narcissa Malfoy could have. And I don't seem to see  _ her _ on any trial lists…'

The witch leading the proceedings glared at Harry over the rims of her glasses. 'Mr. Potter, such outbursts are unacceptable in these proceedings. Mrs. Malfoy is not the issue here, Professor Snape is.'

A wizard in plum velvet robes leaned forward. 'How do you know all this, Mr. Potter? Were you in contact with Professor Snape at all while you were gallivanting around Britain last year?'

'I wasn't gallivanting,' Harry said tightly. 'We – Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and I – were trying to find the only way possible to defeat Voldemort. When we weren't freezing, we were hungry, tired, or terrified,' he added.

'And what precisely was that method?' another witch asked.

Harry sighed. 'Ever heard of a Horcrux?' he mumbled.

'Those are mythical,' the witch dismissed.

'They're real,' Harry countered. 'It's just you have to murder someone to complete the transaction. Voldemort was using Horcruxes to stay alive. He couldn't be stopped until all of them had been destroyed.' Unconsciously, Harry began to rub his fingers over the scar on his forehead, tracing the ridge that symbolized so much about himself he hated. 'And there's only two ways to destroy them – stab it with something that's been infused with basilisk venom, if not an actual basilisk fang, or Fiendfyre.' Harry inhaled deeply. 'But we're talking about Snape here, not Voldemort.'

'I have written testimony from Neville Longbottom, saying that Snape tried to protect the students as much as possible.' Shacklebolt Banished a sheet of parchment toward the officiating witch. 'From when Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, and he broke into Snape's office.' He waited while the witch scanned the document, then passed it to the person next to her. 'Mr. Longbottom asserts that when the Carrows demanded the three of them be turned over to them for… punishment…' Shacklebolt paused. 'Severus refused and merely gave them detentions. Detentions, Mr. Longbottom adds, that were hardly punishments at all. He confined them to the Defense classroom for the evening for three weeks. They were allowed to complete their homework and studies for their other classes.' He pulled another sheet of parchment from the folder on the table. 'I also have a statement from Mr. Seamus Finnegan that states while Severus did not actively stop the activities of the Carrows, he made efforts to shield the students as much as possible, revoking their detentions, and reassigning the students to other professors for the detention. He also states the injuries he sustained during the school year were inflicted on him by other students.'

'That was as much as the rest of us could do,' McGonagall said suddenly.

'I also have a statement from the previous Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, recorded by a Dictation Quill on the first of November, that verifies everything Harry and Minerva have told you.' Shacklebolt Banished the parchment to the officiating witch.

'I don't know that we can accept this as proper evidence,' she murmured, examining the document.

'Why?' retorted McGonagall. 'Because Albus is dead? That doesn't seem to be stopping you for Severus.'

'The difference is Snape was a cold-blooded murderer,' grumbled an elderly wizard.

'Professor Dumbledore was dying anyway,' Harry said. 'Professor Snape was only hastening the inevitable. By Dumbledore's request.'

'It's in the statement,' Shacklebolt added.

The officiating witch beckoned to three other members of the Wizengamot. The four of them huddled together, whispering. The hissing sounds reminded Harry uncomfortably of Parseltongue. At length, with much gesticulating, the four of them seemed to come to a decision. The officiating witch picked up the small gavel and rapped the table sharply with it. 'We shall recess to examine this new evidence and one of us will journey to Hogwarts to question Albus Dumbledore directly. This committee and the witnesses will reconvene in two weeks' time.' She rapped the table once more and the assembled members of the Wizengamot filed from the room.

Harry slumped in his chair, wishing heartily the whole process was over.


	27. November Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ron go see the first Gryffindor Quidditch match.

Ron reached for a couple of bags of crisps, plucking them from the rack with his fingertips. 'Add these to the tab, eh?' The barman grunted, as he pulled their first pints. Ron took it to mean assent.

As the barman slid the full glasses across the scarred and polished counter, he glanced at Harry with a raised eyebrow. 'Yer mate all righ', then? All righ' in th' head, an' all?'

Ron followed the barman's gaze. Harry was slumped into the tiny booth in the corner, looking exhausted. 'He's fine.' Ron said shortly. 'Tough day at work.'

The barman transferred his gaze to Ron. 'Neither o' yeh look old enough to be outta school.'

Ron felt his hackles rise slightly. 'We're old enough,' he muttered, tucking the crisps in the crook of his arm, and wrapping his hands around the glasses, then carried them to the booth. 'Here.' Harry opened his eyes, and picked up the pint of bitter Ron set in front of him, gulping it gratefully. 'Want to ease up a bit? Remember last time…?'

Harry set the glass down, now an inch or so lower, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. 'Clearly.' He paused and reached for one of the bags of crisps, ripping it open. 'Well, the next day, more than that night.'

'How was it?'

Harry heaved a sigh. 'The usual Ministry claptrap. Talking out both ends of their mouths. It's perfectly acceptable for the Wizengamot to try a dead man, but not take the testimony of one.'

'Will you have to…?' Ron motioned toward his head. ‘Let them inside your head?’

Harry shook his head. 'I don't think so. They wouldn't take Dumbledore's testimony in the hearing, so they're going to travel up to the school and talk to his portrait. Because, you know, that's so much more effective.'

Ron took a long sip of his drink. 'Does  _ he _ have a portrait?'

Harry's startled green eyes widened. 'Who? Snape?'

'Yeah…'

Harry's face grew speculative. 'I'm not sure. I haven't been in the Headmistress' office since a few days after… If there was one there, I didn't notice. And he didn't speak up.'

'If there's a portrait…' Ron began.

'They can talk to Snape,' Harry finished. His eyes narrowed and he glared a Ron. 'See? I need you around to help me figure things like this out!'

Ron chuckled and his fingers snaked into the open bag of crisps. 'Nope. Had enough of it in school. Look at you. You're so stressed out about it, I'm sure you're dreaming about it.'

Harry's mouth worked soundlessly, and he sort of shrugged, half-embarrassed. His dreams weren't as full of his working life, as they had been before, but he still dreamed about it. He didn't think about it too much. He just figured it was how his brain worked through things. 'Just a bit,' he said lamely, cramming a few crisps into his mouth.

Lately, his dreams had been punctuated with dreams about Ginny. Unlike the dreams he'd had before, these were almost scandalous; sensuously graphic in a way the others hadn't been. While he wouldn't have traded the days spent with Ginny during the summer, they were making things rather uncomfortable for Harry now. He pushed those thoughts aside, and picked up the thread of conversation. 'I've not thought to ask McGonagall if there is a portrait of Snape. Would they let him have one, do you think?'

'Who?'

'The other Headmasters and Headmistresses. The portraits just don't pop out of thin air, yeah?'

Ron snorted. 'Really? If that lot had any say, do you think they'd have let Phineas Nigellus Black have one?'

Harry's lips twitched. 'Yeah. He is quite a git, isn't he?' He and Ron gazed at each other before they burst into laughter. 'The only problem with that is he ran off. I mean, I know  _ why _ , but I'm not sure that will be enough to put one in.'

Ron took a swallow of his drink. 'Maybe a postage-stamp sized one.' At Harry's raised eyebrow he rolled his eyes. 'What? Live with Dad for eighteen years and eventually some of that rubbish sticks. You'd think I never paid attention to anything anyone ever said,' he grumbled, feeling slightly annoyed.

'Maybe they can hang it next to Phineas Nigellus' portrait. Two of the least popular Headmasters in Hogwarts history,' Harry mused. He caught Ron's furrowed brow. 'Just because he made it possible for us to succeed, it doesn't mean I have to like him,' he stated.

'True.'

'I want it to be over,' Harry admitted. 'I don't want to muck about in someone else's head. I don't want to deal with Malfoy.' Harry paused. ' _ Any _ Malfoy…' He took a long swallow from his glass of bitter. 'I don't want to remember watching Snape die. Or seeing all those people…' He tilted the glass back, and gulped the rest of the pint. 'But every time I have to do something like this, they're all there, just lined up in my dreams staring at me… Waiting…' he said moodily.

'You knew that would be a risk,' Ron pointed out logically.

'I didn't think I'd end up working on the trials so closely,' Harry confessed. 'I thought I'd fetch coffee and run paperwork around. Take a few classes with the other trainees…'

'You still don't get it, do you?' Ron said mildly. 'You're Harry-Bloody-Potter. You can do anything.'

'Ron…'

'Yeah?'

'Get stuffed.'

Ron guffawed bawdily. 'When Hermione comes home for the Christmas hols…' he promised.

'Ewww.' Harry slid from his seat and ambled to the bar to get another pint. When he returned he glared at Ron. 'How would you feel if I reminded you that I've shagged  _ your _ sister?' he demanded.

Ron's eyes narrowed. 'Have you?' he growled threateningly.

'No, but you do see my point? If you don't like me talking about your sister in that way, how do you think  _ I _ feel about you talking about  _ my _ sister like that?'

'But…' Ron fiddled with the open crisp bag. 'It's not like you don't know…'

'Doesn't mean I want to hear it,' Harry retorted.

'Fine…' Ron muttered. 'Is Percy really in a pile of trouble, do you think?' he asked worriedly.

Harry sighed and reached for another crisp. 'I don't know.' He munched thoughtfully for a moment. 'There are people whose instincts lean toward cleaning house completely. They don't want anyone associated with the previous regime, so to speak, in the Ministry.'

'But that's…'

'Yeah. About half the Ministry, right?' Harry sipped his drink. 'It reminds me too much of before. When Barty Crouch, Sr. tried damn near anyone he could get his hands on without so much as a by-your-leave. Threw Sirius in Azkaban without a trial. Or when Fudge and Scrimgeour threw everyone into prison. Tried to expel me from school. Let Umbridge come so damn close to ruining our educations, we wouldn't have passed our O.W.L. in Defense if we'd tried. How many people went along with things – like Percy last year – because they were afraid for their lives?'

'Aside from a few nutters like Umbridge, who seemed to believe in it, I'd say most of those people last year. Do your job or die, yeah?' Ron shivered, remembering their visit to the Ministry last year. ‘There are very few true believers left, and most of those were arrested after the battle… At least that's what Dad says…'

'He's right.' Harry reached for the second bag of crisps. 'With Percy, it's high-profile. He was the Minister's assistant.' Harry fiddled with a crisp. 'They want to make an example of him.'

'I thought you weren't involved…?' Ron swallowed the last of his bitter, and set the glass down on the table with a soft  _ thump _ .

'I'm not,' Harry admitted. 'But it's what they're doing with Snape,' he added. 'It only makes sense to think they'd do it with Percy.' He nudged Ron's empty glass. 'Want another one, mate?'

Ron gazed at the glass and nodded. 'Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.'

* * *

'All right… We've covered the theory behind Patronus charms, and now it's time to put that into some practice. Can anyone tell me the incantation?'

Luna raised her hand. 'It's  _ Expecto Patronum _ .'

'Very good, Miss Lovegood. Five points to Ravenclaw. What does the Patronus charm look like?'

Hermione's hand shot up. 'Please, sir. It depends.'

'Depends on what, Miss Granger?'

'The person casting it,' she replied promptly. 'Each Patronus takes on something unique to each person.'

'Define unique,' Carter shot back.

Ginny's hand rose into the air. 'Some people say it's the person's personality. Others say it's a reflection of someone close to the spell caster. Especially if there's a strong emotional connection involved.'

'That is correct, Miss Weasley.' Carter's eyes swept the room. 'All right… What do you need to have in mind before you say the incantation?'

Dean's hand slowly rose into the air. He rarely volunteered information in class. 'Something happy…' he murmured.

Hermione's hand waved in the air. 'Erm, sir?'

'Yes, Miss Granger?'

'We know this already,' she said quietly. 'We did it three years ago…'

Carter closed his book with a resigned sigh. 'The DA?' he asked.

'Yes, sir.'

'Oh, great day in the mornin'…' Carter grumbled. 'How many of you can produce anything when you try to perform the charm?' he asked. Nearly all the hands in the room rose into the air. 'How many of you are capable of producing a corporeal Patronus?' A few hands dropped, but several of them stayed aloft. 'Of course you can,' Carter muttered. 'All right… Lemme see 'em.'

* * *

Saturday was cold and dry. Harry could feel the air burn his lungs, as he and Ron trudged up the stairs to the stands, usually occupied by the school faculty and guests. It felt odd to not clamber up the creaky stairs to the Gryffindor stands. 'Did George say why he changed his mind?' he asked Ron quietly.

'No. He just told me something came up at the shop when you and I were getting ready to leave.' Ron tightened his scarf as the wind whistled through a crack in the stairwell. 'I think he's lying,' he added bluntly. 'I don't think he's ready to come back here.'

'I can't blame him for that,' Harry muttered. 'It still makes me feel all funny to come up here.'

'Yeah…' Ron let the moment pass. 'So what do you think of Ginny's chances today?'

They appeared at the entrance of the box. Harry blinked in the wan sunshine. 'Ground's hard, so they'll get a good kick-off,' he mused. 'Some sun, but not too much so that it'll blind them.' He squinted at the sky for a moment. 'A bit cloudy, but it doesn't smell like rain or snow.' They descended the stairs toward a couple of empty seats. 'Depends on how well Ginny's prepared her team, and how good the Slytherin team is.'

'Nev brought in some plants for us the other day. He said Hannah said they were having a hard time putting a team together. She said a lot of the ones in fifth year and up didn't come back. Even a lot of the younger ones didn't come back.'

'Potter! Weasley!' barked McGonagall. When they turned to look at her, she beckoned to them. The tall wizard they'd seen in the Three Broomsticks during the Hogsmeade weekend stood next to her.

'Isn't that the DADA professor?' Ron hissed in Harry's ear.

'Yeah,' Harry muttered from the corner of his mouth. 'What's his name again? Carter?'

'Yeah…'

'Ah. Professor Carter, I'd like to introduce you to Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter. It was the two of them, along with Miss Granger that made it possible to end the war. Potter, Weasley, this is Professor Michael Carter, late of the Salem Institute in St. Louis.'

Harry glanced up at Carter. He had intense blue eyes, thinning curly dark hair, and he was tall. Taller than even Ron. He had the rugged look of someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors, and a powerful build that made Harry exchange a look with Ron. To Ron's great surprise, Carter extended a hand toward Ron. 'How’re ya doin'?' he asked, in a deep rumble.

Ron took the large hand and shook it. 'Fine, thanks… I've heard a bit about you from my sister…'

'Ginny, right?'

'Yeah.'

'She's quite good.'

'Erm… Thanks…' Ron tugged at his scarf, loosening it a little, clearly uncomfortable.

Carter turned to Harry. 'So… You're Harry Potter…' He gazed at Harry appraisingly. 'You're the one I have to blame for my sixth and seventh years. Somehow I thought you'd be taller…'

Harry's eyebrow rose. 'I'm sorry?'

'Well, I figured someone who managed to teach a bunch of kids how to do Patronus charms must be taller. Just about every seventh year in my class that was in your group can do a Patronus charm. Corporeal ones, too. As can a good number of the sixth years. I spend more time reviewin' what's going to be on the N.E.W.T.s than actually teaching them. Fine-tunin' and fillin' in holes from the past couple of years.'

'And that's a bad thing?' Ron blurted.

'Well, no,' admitted Carter. 'But it does mean I can get into the theory behind some of this stuff, since they already know how to do it.'

'Ah, that explains the homework,' Harry said. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a bit. 'Could I come up and do a few classes…? Fill in some of my holes…?'

'Aren't you a full Auror?' Carter asked in confusion.

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. 'Yeah, but I had the same questionable teachers they did.'

Carter's eyes narrowed. 'After the holidays. Why don't you come up, and we'll go over a few things?'

'Thanks.' The roar of the crowd cut off anything he might have added. Seven crimson blurs shot by the stands. 'Excuse us…' Harry prodded Ron and the two of them made their way to their seats.

Ron started to sit down, but a movement caught his eye. Hermione waved at him with a self-conscious grin. He flicked his eyes toward the pitch and gave her a questioning look. Hermione shrugged, and tilted her head toward the empty space on the bench next to her in clear invitation. 'Harry…' Ron said.

'Hmmm?' Harry was focused on the team taking a few warm-up laps around the pitch.

'I'm going to go sit with Hermione…'

'Yeah, all right…' Harry replied absently, not really paying attention to what Ron said. He was too busy critically evaluating the team Ginny had put together.

'Ah! Harry Potter!' A man Harry had never met took Ron's vacant seat.

Harry glanced out the corner of his eye. 'Who're you?' he asked almost rudely.

'Bernard Calhoun. Owner of the Falmouth Falcons.' The red-cheeked man held out a hand, that Harry coolly ignored. 'I hear you're quite the Seeker.'

Harry shrugged noncommittally.

'I'm willing to at least triple what the Ministry's paying you to fetch coffee for other Aurors,' Calhoun said bluntly.

'Mmm-hmm.' Harry kept his gaze resolutely on the field. Madam Hooch bent to open the chest releasing the Snitch. She tossed the Quaffle into the air, then unlatched the chains that held the Bludgers into place.

'You can start immediately,' Calhoun wheedled.

'I'm not interested,' Harry growled. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to watch the match…' He decidedly turned his back to Calhoun and winced as a Bludger slammed into Ginny's shin. She pulled one hand off her broom handle, and briefly rubbed her shin before swooping down to meet Demelza, who handed her the Quaffle in a move that was almost balletic in a swirl of robes and brooms. Ginny streaked toward the goalposts, and drew her arm back, sending the Quaffle hurtling toward the right goalpost in a wide curve. It soared neatly through the center of the hoop. Harry whooped, cheering wildly, as Gryffindor scored the first goal of the game.

He became aware of hushed mutters behind him, and saw a gaggle of people gesturing toward Ginny. Most of them had the weather-beaten faces of people who spent a great deal of time outdoors on broomsticks. Each of them wore a badge with a different Quidditch team's logo clipped to the outside of the cloaks or coats. 'You can have my Reserve Seeker, if you let me have her in the first go of the draft,' a somewhat horsy woman told a rather scrawny man with a badge identifying him as a scout for the Cannons.

'Your Reserve Seeker is worse than our normal one,' he scoffed.

'You can have my second and third picks,' a woman Harry recognized as Gwenog Jones stated. 'If you let me take her on.'

The Pride of Portree scout leaned forward. 'Aren't we putting the cart before the horse a bit? She hasn't even signed a letter of intent to play…'

Gwenog watched Dean block a goal and toss the ball to Ginny. 'She will…'

* * *

Ron scrambled into the stands next to Hermione. Her hair was twisted into a plait, but tendrils of curls had come loose around her face. She wore earrings. Small sapphire studs that her parents had given her for her last birthday. She wore a red woolen cap over her head against the chill, with nubby mittens over her hands. The long scarlet-and-gold scarf was wrapped loosely around her throat, the ends tucked into the front of her coat. He set one of his hands on the bench next to hers, the outsides of their mittens barely touching, but Ron could feel himself growing warm, as if they were shut away in his bedroom.

He saw her glance at him out of the corner of her eye, then look away quickly when she noticed him watching her. Ron stripped off his mitten, and picked up Hermione's hand, doing the same. He tucked their bare hands into his coat pocket, his large hand wrapped around hers, thumb gently caressing her palm.

* * *

Ginny stood in a huddle with the team. They were currently up one hundred ten to ninety, and the Snitch was nowhere in sight. 'Dennis, have you seen it at all…?' she asked hoarsely, gulping from a jug of water she passed to Demelza.

He nodded wearily. 'Twice in the last half hour,' he sighed. 'But by the time I get there, it's gone…'

Ginny quashed the uncharitable thought that Harry would have caught the bloody thing an hour ago. 'How's their Seeker doing?' she asked quietly.

Dennis took the jug from Demelza gratefully and took several long swallow of water, before handing it to Ritchie. 'Slower broom,' he said slowly. 'Seems to be flying about aimlessly a bit.' He paused at glanced up at the darkening sky. 'It's an awfully fast Snitch, Ginny…' he said apologetically.

'Right…' Ginny sighed as Madam Hooch blew the whistle, signaling the end of the time-out. 'Try going a bit higher, Dennis, all right? Maybe you can dive into a catch. It's what worked for –' She bit off the end of the sentence. She had been about to say "Harry", but quickly recovered. 'For me.' She held her hand out in the middle of the circle. 'All right, on three… One… Two… Three…'

'Gryffindor!' they shouted, before mounting their brooms and shooting back into the sky.

* * *

Ginny hurtled into Harry's arms, jumping into them, her legs twining around his waist. 'We did it!' she enthused. 'It only took four hours and twenty-eight minutes…'

'It was brilliant,' Harry murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist. She smelled of broom handle polish, sweat, her flowery shampoo, and the underlying scent of  _ her _ . It was a combination that made him dizzy. He ran his fingers along her hairline, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected there.

'Hardly,' Ginny retorted.

'Ginny… You creamed the other team. By a margin of nearly three hundred points…'

'I know… Not nearly as satisfying as barely eking out a win, though.'

'Anyone ever tell you you're competitive?' Harry snorted.

'Just a few times.'

Harry set Ginny on her feet and with a quick glance around them, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He'd meant for it to be lingering and soft, but before he could stop himself, one arm slid down to Ginny's waist and pulled her tightly against him, the kiss turning into an urgent demand. Ginny's toes curled inside the heavy boots she wore, making her gasp. Harry quickly stepped away. 'Oh, God, what's wrong?'

'It's where that Bludger hit me… Wasn't feeling it before…' Ginny leaned down and rubbed a hand over her shin.

Harry jabbed his wand over Ginny's shoulder and a hard-backed chair appeared. 'Sit yourself down, then,' he told her. 'Sorry about the chair. I've just got the knack of conjuring them. Making them comfortable is going to take a while…'

'It's all right.' Ginny eased down into the chair, while Harry knelt on the cold ground in front of her. He quickly unlaced the boot and carefully undid the straps of the guards over her shin, then rolled up the close-fitting trouser leg as much as he could. He carefully peeled the sock away from her foot and winced in sympathy. A large, dark purple bruise spread over the front of her leg, nearly black in the middle. 'That looks awful,' Ginny commented lightly. She hissed when Harry ran tentative fingertips over it. 'Don't you know  _ Episkey _ or something?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, but I think this might be more than I can handle… Ought to get you up to Madam Pomfrey.'

Ginny's nose wrinkled. 'But I'll have to stay the night…'

'Maybe you won't, but I'd feel better if she had a look at it…'

Ginny sighed. 'Fine…' She started to stand up, but the leg buckled underneath her. 'I thought this was why we wore protective gear…' she grumbled.

'That Bludger hit you pretty hard,' Harry murmured, turning his back to Ginny. 'Here. I'll carry you…'

Ginny leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Harry's shoulders. 'This is so not how I pictured this.'

Harry turned his head and kissed the back of her hand. 'I know…' He slid his hands under Ginny's knees, gingerly sliding her off the seat of the chair and onto his back, mindful of the injury. 'Knowing Madam Pomfrey, she'll have you fixed up and out of her hair in no time.'

'You don't have to take me up there,' Ginny said softly, resting her chin on Harry's thin shoulder.

'It's all right,' he said. 'You're more important than my issues…'

* * *

'So, how's it been, really?' Ron asked, pulling Hermione down to his lap. They were sitting on a bench, in an alcove, protected from the worst of the wind. Hermione's bluebell flames danced in a jar in front of them. 'You haven't written much…' In fact, beyond a few lines she had added to the bottom of Ginny's letters to Harry, she hadn't written at all.

'It's awful,' Hermione confessed. 'It's so odd to not see Dumbledore and surprisingly, Potions doesn't quite feel right without Snape billowing around the room like an overgrown bat,' she chuckled shakily. 'It smells the same, unless you're walking by an area they've just repaired. And then you can smell it… just under the usual Hogwarts smell. Fresh paint and plaster. And there are parts of the outside of the castle that are new. Brand-new. I mean, Hogwarts is grimy, right? On the outside, at least. And there are stones and mortar that haven't been weathered yet. It's so obvious…' She paused to swipe her sleeve under her nose. 'The wall… Where Fred…' she began haltingly, before a tear slid down one cheek. 'They just finished it. It's like it was never gone, except of course, it looks new… And until Thursday, it was still a gaping hole. And you and Harry aren't here…'

'You knew we wouldn't be, hen,' Ron said, only slightly reprovingly.

'I know, but… It's just not the same without the two of you. I don't get into any trouble. Nobody tries to convince me to skive off and wander about the castle, trying to find Snape doing something dastardly. I mean, Ginny tries to remind me it's about more than books, but she's actually, you know…  _ Well-behaved _ !' Hermione said this with a slight shudder. 'She doesn't get into any trouble without you lot.' She leaned her head against Ron's shoulder. 'You and Harry really are my best friends,' she sighed.

'Is it as bad as all that?'

Hermione nodded. 'I go to classes and meals. And if I'm not in the library, I'm in my dormitory.' She snorted suddenly. 'It's just like it was before the three of us become friends… And I  _ hated _ that then.'

'Can you hang on until June?' Ron laced his fingers through hers.

'I guess I'll have to.' She shook herself a little. 'I've got something to show you.'

'Have you? Is it some dry tome of magical history that will dehydrate me the second you open it…?'

'No…' She tugged the scarf off and pulled her coat and jumper away from her shoulder. A line of orange showed above the collar of the dark grey jumper. 'Thank you… For sending it…'

'You've been wearing that all day…?' Ron gulped. Lingerie aside, he preferred her wearing his Cannons t-shirt and nothing else. 'Blimey…'

'I'm sorry about… what happened before I left.'

Ron shrugged. 'Don't worry about it.'

'It's just you… Changed… Rather suddenly. I mean you came back last Christmas, and in place of the Ron I'd known for nearly half my life, there was someone else. And you keep saying all the right things at the right time, and I'm so used to hearing you saying something contrary to me because that's what you've always done.' She turned around. 'Hearing you say something sensible is like listening to you speak perfect French all of sudden.'

'I'm still Ron,' he said. 'I still hate studying; I still think Snape was a slimy git, no matter what Harry says. I still support the Cannons, even though realistically, their season's a wash the day it starts. I can still put away my weight in food at meals. And I still don't have the best table manners. I still don't like being in a position of authority, and thought Dumbledore was out of his tree when he made me a prefect. Worst decision ever. Most Muggle things still totally mystify me. Fe –  _ Telephones _ – for instance. I mean, how does that work? Aeroplanes… And I still don't quite understand how a little piece of sticky paper on an envelope gets your post from London to Ottery-St.-Catchpole. I still think you can be an insufferable know-it-all, especially when you've got your teeth in something. And sometimes it irritates me, and others… not so much. And I still say whatever's in my head sometimes, without thinking.

'I just had a lot of time at Bill's to think. And I slowly realized me being an idiot was hurting both you and Harry. It just finally clicked… I didn't want to be that way anymore…'

Hermione was silent for so long, Ron thought she might have fallen asleep. Finally, she said, 'Want to try and convince me to stay out of bounds tonight? For old times' sake?'

Ron burst out laughing. 'I think I can do that…'

* * *

Madam Pomfrey tutted over Ginny. 'It's a miracle you could finish the game, young lady,' she sniffed. It was broken it two places.'

'Do I have to stay here for the night?' Ginny asked in distaste.

Madam Pomfrey scowled. 'Yes.'

'Bugger,' Ginny muttered.

'At least you don't have to regrow all the bones in your arm,' Madam Pomfrey reminded her tartly. 'Unlike  _ some _ people I could name. One night in the hospital wing won't kill you. You'll have other team celebrations.' She handed Ginny a set of pajamas. 'I'll have some dinner brought to you.' She eyed Harry. 'Are you staying?'

Harry looked at Ginny, who sort of shrugged. 'I suppose…'

'Fine, I'll have dinner brought up for both of you.' Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand, and set up a screen around Ginny's bed so Ginny could change.

When she left, Harry leaned against the bed. He indicated the bandage wrapped around Ginny's leg. 'You know… When Muggle kids break something, they get a cast. It's like a thick, stiff bandage. And they have to keep it on for six weeks at least. You get your friends to sign it with a marker.'

'Sounds like a laugh,' Ginny muttered, shifting to try and find a more comfortable position.

'I wouldn't know. As much as I got roughed up, I never broke anything. Until I came here. And Dudley never moved his arse enough to break anything when we were younger. But I hear it's pretty bad during the summer. Hot and itchy. And you have to wrap a bin liner around the cast to keep it dry when you want to have a bath. Or cling film.'

Ginny shuddered. 'All right, all right… One night in the hospital wing isn't going to kill me…' She reached out and touched the back of Harry's hand. 'I'm glad you came for the game.'

'Wouldn't miss it…' He glanced up at the ceiling. 'I certainly don't miss this place, however.' He grinned at Ginny. 'You really were great. I'd have lost patience with Dennis three hours before the game ended.'

'I kept comparing him to you,' Ginny huffed. 'Not out loud, of course.' She slumped into the pillows a little, and her head fell back.

'Tired?'

'Yeah…'

Harry pulled the blanket over Ginny. 'It'll be a while before Madam Pomfrey gets back with dinner. Why don't you have a bit of a kip before? And if you sleep through it, I can get something from the kitchens. It's not like they can give me detentions anymore.' He leaned over and kissed her. 'Go on…'

Ginny settled into the pillows and let her eyes drift shut. She felt Harry's head lower to pillow next to hers. Neither of them noticed when Madam Pomfrey brought in their dinner trays.


	28. Intersections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry shrugged helplessly. 'He wasn't a school elf. Not really. And he wasn't happy at Grimmauld Place. And the one place where I think he might want to go isn't a very happy sort of place.'
> 
> 'That's quite a conundrum you've put yourself into,' Molly chided.
> 
> 'Story of my life,' Harry muttered, slouching in the chair.
> 
> 'What feels like the right place?' Molly asked.
> 
> 'Truthfully?'
> 
> 'Of course.'
> 
> Harry let his head fall to the table. 'Grimmauld Place…' he groaned.
> 
> Molly pushed a cup of tea toward Harry. 'I'm not sure how well you know the house,' she began delicately, 'but there is a small garden in the back.'

Whispers tickled the edge of Harry's consciousness. He became aware of a numb, yet strangely tingling sensation against the side of his nose where the frames of his glasses were pressed against it.

'You wakes him up,' insisted a hissed whisper.

'No, you do it,' argued a smaller voice.

'One of us has to be doing it,' ventured another squeaky voice.

Harry slowly sat up and glanced over his shoulder, straightening his glasses. Five school house elves stood in a knot giving Harry nervous glances. 'Erm… Can I help you…?'

One of the elves shyly stepped forward. 'Mr. Harry Potter, sir…' he – Harry thought it was a he – choked. 'We hates to be bothering you…'

'Kreacher,' another one blurted.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. 'What about Kreacher?' he asked, feeling his lips grow numb. He'd asked McGonagall if Kreacher could stay on at Hogwarts, since Harry didn't have a need for him at the time. He thought Kreacher might be happier in a place where he would have something to do. He also knew sending Kreacher back to Gimmauld Place would have been a terrible idea. Harry never wanted to go back there if he could avoid it, and he didn't want to consign Kreacher to live out the rest of his life in isolation. He could have had Kreacher come to the Burrow, but he knew without a doubt Molly wouldn't appreciate it.

The house elves exchanged nervous glances with each other. 'Kreacher is being very ill, Mr. Harry Potter, sir,' the one who seemed to be the leader finally said, in a quavering voice.

Harry could feel his stomach clench in a spasm of guilt. 'And you'd like me to come down and see him?'

They nodded with seeming relief.

Harry gently detangled his hand from Ginny's and eased away from her, lest she wake up. Madam Pomfrey had given her a rather strong Sleeping Draught after they had woken up and eaten dinner. The process to heal the broken bones in Ginny's leg was quite painful, but not nearly as bad as trying to regrow them. The sleeping potion would ensure Ginny stayed off her leg as much as possible. 'Let's go, then,' he whispered to the group of elves.

He followed the elves through the silent corridors of the school, resisting the impulse to keep his back to the wall, and edge along in the shadows to stay hidden from teachers on patrol. He had to keep reminding himself that he was no longer a student. As they approached the painting of the bowl of fruit, the smallest elf reached up to tickle the pear. She tugged the door open and held it for Harry to pass through. He stopped just inside the kitchen. Kreacher was tucked into a small bed, covered with the quilt Hermione had made for him four years ago. 'He wouldn't be letting us move him,' an elf whispered loudly at Harry's elbow. 'He was insisting that he stays here for when you was to be coming for the Quidditch game, sir…'

'He was wanting to takes proper care of you, sir…' one of the elves piped up.

Kreacher's eyes fluttered open to slits. 'Master Regulus? Is that you, Master Regulus?' he called weakly.

'Who is Master Regulus?' wondered an elf aloud.

'His master before me,' Harry murmured.

'You was being a very bad boy, Master Regulus, to leaves me behind likes that,' admonished Kreacher.

'I'm really sorry,' Harry said helplessly, unsure of whether to deny he was Regulus Black or play along with it.

'But we has put everything to rights, Master Regulus,' continued Kreacher. 'So you is not having to worry about that anymore.'

Harry knelt next to the doll-sized bed and picked up Kreacher's frail hand between his. 'That's really great, Kreacher. I'm glad to hear it.'

One of Kreacher's large ears twitched. 'Is it all right for Kreacher to sleep now?' he asked fretfully. 'I is very tired now… Was wanting to tells you…'

'Yeah, that's fine,' Harry said. 'Get some rest.' He tucked the quilt around Kreacher as if he were Teddy. For a reason he couldn't express, Harry felt like he was inexorably bound to the bed by the insignificant grasp of Kreacher's hand. The fire crackled and popped in the silence and presently, the slight rise and fall of Kreacher's chest ceased and his fingers grew lax in Harry's hand.

One of the elves gently drew the quilt over Kreacher's still face with a sigh that sounded almost relieved to Harry.

'Has he been ill long?' Harry asked.

The elf shook her head. 'Just a couple of weeks, sir.'

'What will happen to him…?'

Another elf tugged Harry's sleeve. 'We will takes care of him,' he insisted. 'Or since you were being his master, you can.'

'I'd like to,' Harry admitted, surprising himself.

The elves exchanged glances once more, then one of them silently nodded once. 'Mr. Potter, sir? Where will you be wanting us to bring Kreacher?'

'Erm…' Harry's mind raced. 'I guess the Burrow… In Devon… …'

'We is able to find it,' the leader assured Harry. 'Is Tuesday morning being all right?' he asked anxiously.

'Yeah, it's fine.' Harry sat for another long moment and slowly got to his feet. He awkwardly shuffled to the door. 'Thank you,' he told the elves. 'For coming to get me.'

'You is very welcome, sir.'

Harry ducked out of the kitchens and slowly walked back to the hospital wing. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his jumper against the chill. He wondered where Ron had gotten to.  _ Maybe he went back to Charlie's flat in Hogsmeade… _ They were to have spent the night with Charlie, then make it back to the Burrow for lunch on Sunday. Harry was going to stay with Ginny until Madam Pomfrey released her in the morning after breakfast. The hospital wing was a disorienting place in which to wake up. Harry knew he would have preferred some company when he'd had to spend the night in there.

'You're still here, Potter?'

Harry's head jerked up. 'Yeah.'

McGonagall loomed in the shadows. Harry's head tilted to one side and he suddenly realized he could look her in the eye. When he'd first met her, he needed to tilt his head back. 'Do you plan to stay the night with Miss Weasley?'

'If you don't mind…'

McGonagall eyed him beadily, then nodded shortly. She looked at him closely for a moment. 'Are you all right?'

Harry began to nod, then stopped. 'I really don't know,' he admitted. He started when he felt McGonagall's hand grip his elbow.

'Come with me, Potter…' She towed him down the corridors until they came to a stop at the door of the staff lounge. With a wry look at Harry, she said, 'Protean charm,' to the gargoyles that guarded the door.

'Oh, ha-ha,' Harry muttered.

Once the doors swung open, McGonagall gently pushed Harry through them. 'Have a seat,' she told him, waving her wand at the low table in front of the fireplace.

Harry dropped into an overstuffed armchair and accepted the cup of tea she offered him. 'Sirius' old house elf died,' he murmured. 'Just now.'

'And that bothers you?'

Harry glanced at McGonagall in slight amazement. She somehow managed to keep her voice neutral. 'Not really,' he said. 'It was just… Odd.'

McGonagall sipped a cup of tea. 'Odd in what way?'

Harry gazed into the flames of the fireplace. 'I've never seen that…' he said slowly. He caught McGonagall's slightly skeptical expression. 'Not that sort of death,' he explained. 'It's always been murder or in a battle.'

'I see.'

'This was almost… peaceful…' Harry met McGonagall's eyes. 'I knew people died this way. In bed, quietly, of old age. I just didn't know…' he finished lamely.

'And how does this make you feel?' McGonagall persisted.

Harry ran a fingertip over the rim of the cup. He reached for a Ginger Newt and nibbled it thoughtfully. 'It's not…' His brows knit. 'Sad.' He exhaled gradually. 'Not that I feel nothing,' he added. 'But it's not making me all twisted up inside.' He set his cup down. 'Does that make sense?' he asked.

'It does.' McGonagall examined Harry for a few moments. 'Death doesn't always have to be violent.'

'I know that,' Harry said flatly. 'I know one can greet death peacefully. It's how…' He trailed off and looked down. 'It's how the third brother did it.'

'The third brother?'

'In that book Dumbledore left Hermione,' Harry muttered. 'The story with the three brothers and how they met Death.'

' _ The Tale of the Three Brothers _ ,' McGonagall supplied.

'Yeah. That's the one.'

McGonagall took a biscuit from the plate between them. 'You did things quite backward, Harry,' she mused. 'Most people experience how death is supposed to be – at the end of a long life – when they're young. You started off with the violence.'

'It's a little confusing,' he confessed in a near-whisper. 'Oughtn't I to feel sad or something? Because I don't. I feel… Relieved.'

'In what way?'

'Because he –' Harry hesitated. 'Kreacher suffered so much before. For years and years.' He retrieved his tea. 'I guess he can really tell Regulus that he didn't die in vain…'

'Regulus Black?' McGonagall murmured. 'I thought he was tortured by Death Eaters for wanting to get out…'

Harry shook his head. 'He knew what Riddle was trying to do. And he died trying to stop him.' McGonagall's brows rose in inquiry, but she remained silent. 'Kreacher told us last autumn,' he told her. Harry suddenly snorted in ironic laughter. 'I wonder if Sirius ever found out…'

* * *

Hermione pulled Ron down a dark corridor, giggling.

'Where are we going?' Ron whispered loudly.

'Shhh!' Hermione came to a skidding stop in front of a thick door. She pulled out her wand and jabbed it at the door. It opened with a soft  _ click _ . She slipped through the narrow crack. 'Aren't you coming?' she asked pertly.

Ron weighed his options.  _ Go inside with her, and risk getting her into trouble, or leave now and go back to Charlie's flat… _ Before he could decide, Hermione's hand darted out and yanked him inside. The door firmly shut behind him, and Hermione flicked her wand at it lazily, locking it once more. Ron gazed around the room. It had a faint aroma of dust and the stale air of a long-unopened room. 'Where are we…?'

Hermione pushed Ron's coat off his shoulders. 'Don't you remember?'

Ron frowned and examined the room closely. He saw the shards of a broken porcelain plate on the floor, its colors still glaringly bright. 'This isn't…?' he breathed.

'Oh yes, it is,' Hermione gloated gleefully, shaking her own coat to the floor.

'And what have you got in mind to do here?' Ron asked.

'If you haven't guessed by now…' Hermione snorted, hands working on the stubborn buckle of Ron's belt. She backed up until she ran into the edge of the desk. 'I've been picturing doing something like this for  _ years _ .'

'Snogging on a desk somewhere?' Ron was having a difficult time thinking.

'More than snogging,' Hermione promised. 'Don't you think it would make a lovely tribute to Umbitch to shag on her desk?'

'What if we get caught?' Ron hissed.

'We won't if we're quick about it,' Hermione retorted, hauling her jumper over her head. She started to peel off the Cannons t-shirt, but Ron's hand landed on hers.

'Leave the shirt on,' he growled.

* * *

Ron held his wrist up to the window, peering at the time. 'It's awfully late, hen,' he told Hermione.

She shrugged and held her lit wand aloft searching the dark corners. 'Where's my left shoe…?' she murmured. She looked at Ron over her shoulder. 'And your point?'

Ron stumbled over Hermione's missing shoe and stooped to pick it up. 'Curfew was an hour ago.' He held out the shoe.

Hermione took it and shoved her foot into it and pulled her coat over her jumper. 'What's the worst they can do to me? Give me detention?' she snorted derisively.

'Well, yeah…'

'Please,' Hermione scoffed. 'I can do my homework blindfolded, and it's not as if I have Quidditch practice…'

Ron's mouth fell open. 'Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?' he demanded.

'This is the most fun I've had since I got back,' Hermione retorted. Ron began to grin smugly, and she rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his arm. 'Not just that,' she told him. 'I'd just forgotten how fun it was a break a few rules and be a little naughty.'

'A  _ little _ naughty?' Ron laughed. 'I don't think what we've just done could be classified as a little naughty,' he burbled.

Hermione attempted to keep a straight face, but she began to giggle. 'No, I suppose not.'

Ron bent double, unable to breathe, laughing, swiping at the tears streaming down his face. 'Oh, Merlin… Could you imagine the look on Umbridge's face if she knew what we did?'

'If it's anything like it was when the twins set off the fireworks in the school, then any punishment they can give me will be worth it,' Hermione chortled. She pressed an ear to the door. 'I think it's clear…' She jabbed her wand at the door, and it unlocked. She took Ron's hand and they began to walk toward the staircase that would take them to the entrance to Gryffindor.

They rounded the corner of a corridor and nearly ran into Harry, who seemed to be deep inside his own thoughts, and didn't realize they were there until he all but plowed into them. 'Oh… Hiya…' he said distractedly.

'I thought you'd gone back to Charlie's,' Ron whispered.

Harry shook his head. 'Remember that Bludger that hit Ginny early in the game?'

Ron started to shake his head no, but a vague memory of seeing something hit Ginny from the corner of his eye surfaced. 'Sure…'

'Broke her leg, so she's in the hospital wing until tomorrow. I thought I'd stay with her.'

Hermione leaned a little closer to Harry. He wasn't quite focused on them. 'Are you all right, then?' she asked worriedly.

Harry blinked several times, then squarely met her gaze. 'Kreacher's gone,' he said simply.

'Didn't do a bunk, did he?' Ron asked suspiciously.

Hermione studied Harry closely. 'No, I don't think so.' She reached out and gently touched Harry's arm. 'He's died…?'

'Yeah.' Harry didn't seem too perturbed by it, which made Ron and Hermione exchange a worried glance. Harry had fretted about how they'd had to leave Kreacher at Grimmauld Place last autumn.

'You don't seem to be all broken up about it,' Ron commented, with his characteristic bluntness. Harry usually took death personally.

Harry's face cleared. 'Actually, I'm not,' he replied. 'It was sort of nice, you know?'

'How is someone dying nice?' Ron asked.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'I was with him. The other elves came to get me from the hospital wing. And after the last three years, it's almost nice to see someone die a natural death.' He looked up at his friends. 'Really does mean it's over, doesn't it?' He slowly exhaled. 'You planning on walking her back up to Gryffindor?' he asked Ron.

'That's the idea. Mum tells me it's what blokes do after a date.'

Harry dug into the pocket of his jeans and handed a small bundle to Ron. 'Don't get caught.'

Ron unfurled Harry's Invisibility cloak with a smile. 'Thanks, mate. I'll give it back to you tomorrow. You are going back to Charlie's, yeah?'

'Yeah. After Madam Pomfrey lets Ginny out.'

Ron nodded. 'Right. I'll get this back to you then. Don't forget. We're leaving for home at eleven for lunch.'

'Why so early?' Hermione inquired.

'We promised Mum we'd be home by noon,' Ron mumbled.

'And on that note…' Harry started to walk past Ron and Hermione. 'Don't keep her out too late, mate, all right?'

Ron snorted quietly. 'What are they going to do?' he muttered to Hermione. 'Give me detention?'

* * *

George sighed and pushed the carton back onto the shelf. 'Twenty-six Venomous Tentacula seeds,' he murmured to the Dictation Quill that hovered over the ledger. 'I'll need to get some more…' He stretched, arching against the strain in his back. He scooted the stool to the next row of cartons on the shelf and peered inside. 'Two bottles of essence of dittany.' George rubbed the back of his neck, then scrubbed his hand over his face. His eyes burned from the full day in the shop, followed by the late hour of the night. Once the shop had closed for the day, George began to clean the shop with a vengeance. Not just with magic – he pulled shelves away from the walls and scrubbed the floors behind them; repeated the action in the back room; and began the painstaking process of creating an inventory list of their ingredients. He wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but he was trying not to think about why he hadn't gone up to Hogwarts with Ron and Harry to see Ginny's game. He kept hoping the busier he was, the less he'd think, and he wouldn't quite feel so guilty.

'George? Are you in here?' Katie's head appeared in the doorway between the shop and the back room. 'What are you doing?'

'Just trying to stay organized,' George muttered, pulling out a small box. 'We're low on things anyway. Don't have time to do this during the day…'

'Do you have any idea what time it is?' Katie asked casually.

'No…'

'It's after midnight.'

'Oh.' George counted packets of puffapods. 'How'd you know anyone was in here?'

'You can see the light from the street,' Katie replied. 'And you're the only one foolish enough to still be up in Diagon Alley.'

'You're awake,' George pointed out. He glanced up at Katie and snorted in slight derision. 'He sure does like it when you get all dolled up, doesn't he?'

Katie shrugged noncommittally, pleating the hem of her skirt between her fingers. 'Yeah, well, swotty French restaurants sort of like it when you dress up a bit.' She caught George's puzzled expression. 'And no, I wasn't exactly chuffed about going there. Meager portions that wouldn't keep a flobberworm alive. I'm starving.'

'Doesn't know you very well, does he?' George jabbed his wand at the lantern, turning it up, making the room brighter.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Katie kicked off the high-heeled shoes she wore and began to flex her toes, sighing in relief.

'Means that if What's-His-Name was really interested in  _ you _ , he'd know that you'd prefer a nice plate of Thai noodles. A place that doesn't make you put on shoes that pinch your toes,' George added pointedly.

'We've been through this before…' Katie grumbled.

'Why do you like him so much?' George asked suddenly.

'Because he's easy,' Katie retorted. 'What's-His-Name doesn't require much in the way of thought or effort on my part.'

'The earmark of a healthy relationship,' George snickered. 'Get it?  _ Earmark _ !'

'Cute. How long did it take you to come up with that one?' She hoisted herself to the top of the table. 'It's not a relationship,' she informed George. 'I keep telling you that. It's just for laughs.' She looked at George critically. 'How long have you been here today?'

'Dunno. Since nine this morning, I guess.'

Katie braced a hand on the table and examined the ledger. 'I thought you were going up to Hogwarts for the match,' she said casually.

'I was,' George said wearily. 'Couldn't leave the shop, though.'

'Rubbish,' Katie declared. 'Absolute rubbish.'

'It's not,' George huffed mulishly. 'There were things that needed to be done around here, and with Ron away, and the front busy, they weren't going to get done until we closed up.'

'Sounds like an excuse to me,' Katie said.

'I just didn't want to go, Katie, all right?' George snarled. He slid off the stool and reached across the table, slamming the ledger shut. 'You can see yourself out,' he informed her. 'Just make sure you lock the door.'

Katie jumped off the table and ran outside. George was preparing to Apparate, when Katie grabbed his arm. George's mouth opened, as they spun into nothingness. When they reappeared outside the stone wall that separated the paddock from a neighboring field, George shook off Katie's hand. 'Are you mad?' he yelled. 'You could have Splinched us both!' He looked down at Katie's bare feet. 'You must be,' he sneered. 'Running out without your shoes like that. You've got less sense than Ron's bloody owl.'

George turned and headed not for the Burrow, as Katie expected, but toward the small cemetery tucked into a clearing of the woods. 'Of course…' she murmured. 'I should have realized…' She started to follow George, but her feet wouldn't move. She stood on the spot, watching until his bright head had long faded into the darkness, only returning home when her feet grew painfully cold.

* * *

Unlike most of the people he worked with, Harry didn't really mind Mondays. Walking into Level Two on a Monday morning was a reminder that things were, well,  _ normal _ . Going to work without fear. He loved it. Even when he didn't always love what went on in there sometimes.

He passed Christianne Gibson in the corridor. 'Morning,' he said, determined to at least get the woman to stop glowering every time he walked by. Her eyes narrowed and she swept past. 'Can't win with some people,' he muttered. He tossed his bag into his cubicle and snaked through the maze-like warren until he found Peter Wilson rifling through his papers, preparing for the day. He stood just inside the cubicle's entrance, unwilling to disturb his supervisor.

'I can do more than one thing at a time, Potter,' Peter chuckled.

Harry started slightly. 'How'd you know I was here?' He didn't think he'd made a sound.

'I'd make a damn poor Auror if I can't hear an average eighteen year-old hover like that.' Peter looked up. 'What can I do for you, Harry?'

Harry hesitated, then plunged forward. 'Could I not come in tomorrow?' he asked in a rush. He hated to ask for favors, especially at work.

Peter waved him to one of the small, hard-backed chairs in front of his desk, then jabbed his wand toward the entrance. Harry grinned slightly as a light buzzing sound began to hum.  _ Muffliato _ was becoming popular when people didn't want conversations overheard, and finding privacy at the Ministry was almost impossible at times. 'You haven't been here long enough to need a mental health day,' Peter mused. 'What's going on?'

Harry traced the weave of the trousers over his knee and took a deep breath. 'I have –  _ had _ – this house elf,' he began. 'I mean, I inherited him from my godfather. I didn't want to, and I didn't really like the idea of having an elf to begin with, and well, he didn't like me, either, see, but last year, he and I came to an understanding of sorts, and he's been living up at Hogwarts, because I don't really  _ need _ a house elf, and…'

'Harry,' interrupted Peter gently, 'get to the point.'

'Oh… well… you see, Peter… it's just that…' Harry bit his lip. 'Kreacher, the elf… He's died…' he finished lamely.

'All right… So why do you need tomorrow off, then?'

'So I can… Take care of… Things…' Harry made a vague gesture toward the window. 'I've caught up with my paperwork, and I can take some of it with me and do it tomorrow, and…'

'Harry, stop. You're making my head hurt…' Peter squinted at Harry's tense face. 'It's fine. And you don't have to take the paperwork home. The trials won't start until January anyway, so you've got time. You just need to let Gibson know you'll not be here tomorrow.'

Harry made an involuntary moue of distaste. 'Do I have to…?'

Peter smiled sympathetically. 'I can tell her. How does my sister say it…? Like throwing petrol on a fire, the two of you…'

Harry's mouth dropped in shock. 'How do you know about petrol?'

Peter laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. 'I'm Muggle-born,' he explained. 'Remind me, and I'll tell you how I evaded capture and registration last year,' he intoned dramatically.

'That sounds like a fun tale,' Harry said sarcastically.

'It's actually quite boring,' Peter commented. 'I was visiting my sister in Perth when the Ministry fell. Kingsley snuck in one night, right after they made Muggle-borns register, and sort of made me 'disappear'. Charmed the file so anyone looking for me, other than him, would pass right over it.' Peter shrugged. 'That's how some of us managed to survive in hiding. Good thing, too, because too many didn't…' He cleared his throat. 'Don't forget Lucius Malfoy's investigation is starting today.'

'Yeah. They're going over the initial charges at three this afternoon.' Harry couldn't quite meet Peter's eyes.

'You think it's unfair,' Peter stated.

Harry shrugged. 'It doesn't matter what I think,' he replied.

'It does to me,' Peter said quietly.

Harry rose from the chair and began to leave. 'If you had seen the way Riddle treated Lucius Malfoy after he got them out of Azkaban…' Harry sighed explosively. 'Maybe they've suffered enough.'

Peter's eyes widened, but he said nothing.

* * *

Harry stole down the stairs first thing in the morning. He knew Molly wouldn't be busy at this time of morning. He didn't want her to open the back door, and find a group of Hogwarts house elves on the stoop, bearing Kreacher's body. She was sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in her ratty dressing gown, feet propped up in another chair, sipping a cup of tea, with her nose buried in  _ Witch Weekly _ . 'Molly…?'

Molly looked up from the magazine. 'You're up awfully early,' she said lightly.

'Yeah… Listen, you remember Kreacher…?'

Molly's lips thinned. 'I do.'

'He died when I was at the school Saturday. I told the other elves I'd take care of things. They're going to bring him over this morning…'

'Oh.' Molly peered at Harry over the rim of her cup. She set it back in the saucer with a nod. 'That will be fine.' Molly laid the magazine on the table. 'What are you planning on doing with him? Surely you're not going to erm… add him to the collection at Grimmauld Place, are you?'

'No,' Harry said immediately. 'But other than that, I don't really know…'

Molly hesitated, then said, 'You didn't want him with the other school elves?'

Harry shrugged helplessly. 'He wasn't a school elf. Not really. And he wasn't happy at Grimmauld Place. And the one place where I think he might want to go isn't a very happy sort of place.'

'That's quite a conundrum you've put yourself into,' Molly chided.

'Story of my life,' Harry muttered, slouching in the chair.

'What feels like the right place?' Molly asked.

'Truthfully?'

'Of course.'

Harry let his head fall to the table. 'Grimmauld Place…' he groaned.

Molly pushed a cup of tea toward Harry. 'I'm not sure how well you know the house,' she began delicately, 'but there is a small garden in the back.'

* * *

Harry stood with Ron in the small, somewhat dingy back garden of number twelve Grimmauld Place. 'Not very cheery, is it?' Ron whispered.

'But appropriate,' Harry said.

They had dug a small, but deep hole under the shelter of a rather scrawny ash tree. Harry knelt next to the small, plain coffin holding Kreacher's remains and gently drew a pair of small child's socks over the elf's bare feet, before tucking Hermione's quilt around him. 'What did you do that for?' Ron asked curiously.

Harry closed the lid, and tapped it with his wand, sealing it. 'So he can be a free elf.'

'I didn't think Kreacher was particularly interested in his freedom,' Ron said.

'No, he wasn't.' Harry used his wand to guide the coffin into the ground. 'But it's just the idea that he won't have to do what he's ordered to do any more.'

Ron nodded, and flicked his wand at the pile of earth next to the hole, and it gently settled over the coffin, rounding slightly. Harry picked up a roundish stone with one word engraved on it:  _ Kreacher _ .


	29. Learn to Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something seemed slightly off. It wasn't just that Dumbledore's fanciful silvery instruments were no longer there, something else wasn't quite the same. Harry's eyes moved slowly around the walls. There was the Sorting Hat on its shelf. It looked a little worse for wear after its exploits from last spring, but the brim rippled a little as Harry's attention turned to it. Gryffindor's sword lay in the glass case, glinting brightly in the winter sunshine that flooded the room. Harry's gaze swept over the previous Heads – Armando Dippet, Everard, Dilys Derwent, Phineas Black, Dexter Fortescue, Albus Dumbledore… He stopped suddenly and frowned, taking a few steps toward Dumbledore's portrait. A small portrait, no bigger than one of the photographs of his parents in his album, now occupied a space on the wall. Harry was sure it hadn't been there before. He peered at it, rubbing his eyes.
> 
> It was Severus Snape, who pointedly had his back turned to the resumed hearing, shoulders stiffly held around his ears. He seemed to be ignoring what was going on right behind him, but Harry couldn't blame him.

Harry followed a line of people up the stairs, staring at the plum velvet robe of the Wizengamot member in front of him. He sullenly kicked at the edge of the riser, upset that he'd been made to accompany them to question Dumbledore's portrait. His mood lightened a bit when he saw McGonagall standing stiffly in resentful imperiousness at the entrance to the Headmistress' office. She didn't see the point to this charade, either. She turned to the gargoyle and murmured, ' _ Cluaran leana _ .' The gargoyle slid to the side and Harry waited for Shacklebolt, the four members of the Wizengamot that had led the previous hearing, and McGonagall to walk through the door and begin to slow ascent up to McGonagall's office, before joining them.

The ride up to McGonagall's office was tense and silent, with McGonagall's eyes boring into the backs of the Wizengamot members. Harry almost felt sorry for them. At the top of the stairs, they filed into the Headmistress' office; and Harry almost felt, rather than heard, the anticipatory rustle from the previous Heads as they shifted attentively, eagerly awaiting the proceedings. A few of them waved brightly to Harry, who returned it bashfully. He noticed Phineas Nigellus Black appeared to be in a deep sleep, but it was the exaggerated position of repose that made Harry chuckle to himself. Phineas Black was probably the most anti-social previous Head in the office, feigning disinterest in nearly everything around him, even though Harry knew he listened to everything avidly. Today would be no different.

While the Wizengamot member leading the hearing began to drone on, Harry took the time to gaze around the office. He didn't know it that well, but he figured he'd been in here more than any other student in recent history. Something seemed slightly off. It wasn't just that Dumbledore's fanciful silvery instruments were no longer there, something else wasn't quite the same. Harry's eyes moved slowly around the walls. There was the Sorting Hat on its shelf. It looked a little worse for wear after its exploits from last spring, but the brim rippled a little as Harry's attention turned to it. Gryffindor's sword lay in the glass case, glinting brightly in the winter sunshine that flooded the room. Harry's gaze swept over the previous Heads – Armando Dippet, Everard, Dilys Derwent, Phineas Black, Dexter Fortescue, Albus Dumbledore… He stopped suddenly and frowned, taking a few steps toward Dumbledore's portrait. A small portrait, no bigger than one of the photographs of his parents in his album, now occupied a space on the wall. Harry was sure it hadn't been there before. He peered at it, rubbing his eyes.

It was Severus Snape, who pointedly had his back turned to the resumed hearing, shoulders stiffly held around his ears. He seemed to be ignoring what was going on right behind him, but Harry couldn't blame him.

'Then I suggest you put your questions toward Severus,' Dumbledore was saying. Harry shook himself slightly and gave the hearing his full attention.

'Professor Snape, would you explain your actions of September first to May first of the last school year?' the lead Wizengamot member asked haughtily.

'I told you, Albus, I wanted no part of this,' Snape said in a low rumble, his head turning slightly to the side toward Dumbledore as he spoke.

'They're only going to believe it if they hear it from you, Severus,' Dumbledore reprimanded.

Snape shoulders drew in even more and his head turned fully toward Dumbledore. 'Albus,' he began patiently, 'nobody is ever going to believe what I did and why.' Harry noticed Snape's dark eyes were shuttered. Even as a portrait. 'Let them convict me. Let them have their scapegoat. It's what they want,' he finished contemptuously, turning his back to the room once more, clearly finished.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He didn't remember seeing a portrait of Snape in the Head's office, either the morning after the battle, when he used the Elder Wand to repair his own holly-and-phoenix feather one, nor a few days later when he came up to talk to McGonagall once he woke up. 'How long has Professor Snape's portrait been here?' he asked McGonagall, in seeming idleness.

One of McGonagall's expressive eyebrows swept up and she glared at Harry over the rims of her glasses. 'Severus' portrait appeared shortly after the memorial service in May,' she informed Harry. Her eyes flicked toward the other portraits. 'It seemed the other Heads were rather swayed by your insistence that he be included.'

Shacklebolt couldn't completely stifle his laughter. He swiftly turned it into a cough. 'Well, I think that ought to put to rest any questions you might have about Snape's innocence in the matter.'

'Minister, this is highly irregular,' sniffed the lead Wizengamot member.

'This entire situation is highly irregular,' Shacklebolt retorted. 'If Snape was the traitor you seem to want to paint him, he wouldn't be here. And you were able to question Dumbledore in minute detail. I trust you have enough information to make your decision?'

The four members of the Wizengamot exchanged glances. One of the reluctantly spoke. 'We do.'

'Brilliant,' Harry muttered.

McGonagall flicked her wand at the door and it swung open. 'Shall we go downstairs? You are all welcome to stay for lunch,' she sighed. She rode down the spiral staircase next to Harry. 'If you're staying,' she told him, 'you can go sit at the Gryffindor table with Miss Weasley.'

'Thanks,' Harry murmured.

McGonagall gifted him with a small smile. 'I rather imagine you'd be a bit bored at the staff table.' She patted him on the shoulder. 'Just because we tend to pile the responsibility of someone twice your age on your shoulders, it doesn't mean you need to adopt the lifestyle of one twice your age.'

'Too right,' Harry snorted.

McGonagall nodded, and quickened her pace to catch up with Shacklebolt, leaving Harry alone.

Harry walked into the Great Hall, trailing after McGonagall. He glanced at the Gryffindor table, but Ginny hadn't come down for lunch yet. Dean was sitting at one end, alone, morosely picking at a plate of beef casserole, reading a crumpled letter. Harry slid into a seat across from Dean. 'Hi,' Harry said.

'Hey…' Dean's attention dropped back to the letter. He folded it and shoved it into his bag, a pensive expression darkening his face.

'How's Seamus doing?' Harry asked curiously. 'Gin said you stayed with him a bit over the summer.'

'Fine,' Dean replied automatically.

'Oh, that's good. Maybe Ron and I can go up one weekend and see him.'

Dean's eyes dropped to his plate. 'I don't…' He paused and glanced down at his bag. A corner of the letter peeped out of a pocket of it. 'Yeah, maybe that would be good,' he said softly.

Harry noticed the sound of Dean's voice. 'Seamus isn't really fine, is he?'

Dean dragged his fork through his meal and silently shook his head. 'Not so much.' He pushed his plate away and picked up his bag. 'I need to go finish my homework for Flitwick.' He started to walk away from the table. 'It's like he's going to disappear,' he explained awkwardly, before walking out of the Great Hall.

Harry stared after Dean, absorbing what Dean had told him between the lines. He didn't notice Ginny had slid into the seat next to his until she spoke. 'This is a surprise,' she said, delighted.

Harry blinked a few times. 'Oh…' He shook his head and pushed Dean and Seamus to the back of his mind for the moment. 'Yeah, it is.'

Ginny ladled casserole onto Harry's plate, then her own. 'Did you come up with  _ them _ ?' she asked, gesturing toward the High Table, at the four plum-velvet clad Wizengamot personnel.

Harry couldn't help but grin at the disdainful tone of Ginny's voice. 'Sadly, yes. I tried to avoid it, but see the witch with the mousy hair?' Harry tilted his chin toward the witch at the end of the table.

'Yeah.'

'She was most insistent that I join them.' Harry's face twisted briefly in a grimace. 'But, I get to see you, so there's a good side.' He leaned closer and kissed the corner of Ginny's mouth, blushing at the hoots that traveled up the Gryffindor table and from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. They parted a little and Ginny picked up her fork. Harry watched her eat for a moment; his eyes straying to Dean's vacated plate. 'You and Dean talk, right?'

'Yeah, sometimes,' Ginny said. 'Why?'

'How's Seamus doing?'

Ginny laid her fork down and poured pumpkin juice into her goblet. 'Remember what you were like last summer?'

Perplexed, Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I do…'

'It's not quite like that,' Ginny hastily added. 'But Dean says he's… lost… He didn't come back to school, and Dean says he's not working.'

Harry reared back slightly. 'That doesn't sound like Seamus,' he murmured. The Seamus he knew might have publicly complained about his homework, but he always did it. He even managed to finish it early, and didn't put it off like he and Ron were wont to do. And given the few times he'd met Mrs. Finnigan, he didn't think Mrs. Finnigan was sitting idly by, allowing Seamus to loll about the house.

'Why do you want to know?' Ginny asked.

'Dean was here before you got here. He mentioned Seamus wasn't doing very well. I thought maybe Ron and I could go up, drop in on Seamus, talk him into taking in a game in Ballycastle or something,' Harry said, toying with his lunch.

'He had it pretty bad here last year,' Ginny commented. 'Gryffindor, Muggle father, best friend Muggle-born, friends with you…' she counted off on her fingers. 'A couple of times, he'd walk from one class to another, and he'd be right behind us, and then he'd be gone. Seamus would show up at dinner with fresh bruises and cuts. But he'd never talk about it, or go to Madam Pomfrey. Nev told me things got so bad, Seamus wouldn't sleep with the lights off in the dormitory. Almost set the curtains of his bed on fire more than once.' Her fingers tightened around the handle of her fork. 'Not like you haven't been through worse,' she added tentatively. 'But…'

'Yeah…' Harry sighed. He methodically took a bite of his casserole. 'So how's the team?' he said desperately, trying to change the subject.

Ginny shrugged. 'All right, I suppose. We took some time off after the last game, but we need to get back into training soon. Madam Pomfrey made me take two weeks off training after the game anyway.' Ginny reached under the table and ran her hand over the healed shin. 'Just as well. It hurt horribly for days afterward if I did more than a sedate walk.' She nudged Harry a little. 'When do you have to go back?'

'After lunch…' Harry glanced down at his watch. 'There's a hearing where I need to testify…'

'Another one?' Ginny breathed in dismay.

'Well, this one isn't so personal,' Harry tried to say with more conviction than he felt. 'It's for Lucius Malfoy.'

* * *

_ It's not personal, my arse _ , Harry thought with amusement when he settled into a chair in a nondescript conference room in an area of Level Two Harry had never seen. The windowless room was dominated by a heavy wooden table that made the room feel far more claustrophobic than his broom cupboard had ever been. He sat at one side of the table, with his hands folded on top of it. While it looked as if he was calmly waiting for the two Wizengamot members to arrive, along with the Aurors who were assigned to escort Lucius Malfoy, Harry's mouth was painfully dry.  _ If what I say here is leaked to the  _ _ Daily Prophet _ _ before the trial… _ Harry wasn't here to testify against Lucius. He was here to testify  _ for _ him.

Most people Harry knew would argue that Lucius needed to return to Azkaban for a nice long sentence. Preferably long enough so that when he came out, he could count the number of teeth still in his head on one hand. But to Harry that wasn't quite justice for what Lucius had done. Certainly, he'd had his hand in on a fair share of events in the past, but Lucius had already been tried for those crimes. It was illegal to try him again. But this time…

Harry was well aware of what Azkaban, guarded by Dementors, could do to a person. He'd seen it carved on Sirius' face, and Sirius at least was able to cling to the idea he was innocent, unhappy a thought as it was. Even though Harry hadn't seen much of Lucius in the last year, Lucius was undeniably a broken man. He looked as if he'd been in Azkaban for twenty years, rather than the one. And he hadn't improved in the time after his breakout, like Sirius had. If anything, he'd gotten worse. It made Harry wonder just what went through Lucius' mind when he'd been in prison. And if last year had been those thoughts acted out on a grand scale.

Harry gazed at the top of the table, tracing the grain of the highly polished surface with his eyes. Lucius was going to lose everything he held dear when this was all over, regardless of the outcome. His social status; his wealth; his influence with the Minister. He would be an outcast and if he was lucky, his wife and son would still acknowledge him. Narcissa had every right to demand the marriage be legally dissolved, due to Lucius' criminal activity. Harry wouldn't blame her if she did request it, if Lucius was sentenced to Azkaban for a long sentence.

The door opened to admit Evan Brierly, a soft-spoken, but burly Auror, who kept a meaty hand clamped gently around Lucius' upper arm. He guided Lucius into the room, and deposited him into one of the chair across the table from Harry. Harry was shocked. Lucius looked even worse than he had in May, as if he'd aged thirty years overnight. His hair had been shorn close to his head, and what was left had thinned considerably, leaving the top nearly bald. Deep lines fanned from the corners of his eyes and bracketed his mouth. 'Have you had a sufficient time to examine me, boy, or would you like more time?' Lucius drawled.

Harry felt one of his brows drift up, but he remained silent.

'I'm told you're here on my behalf,' Lucius continued. 'My, my, what would the others say if they knew what you were doing?' he mused idly.

It took all of Harry's self-control to not respond to Lucius veiled barbs. He dug the nail of one thumb into his other hand. He didn't want to give Lucius anything to use against him. Not even now.

Mercifully, the two Wizengamot wizards strode into the room just then. Unlike the four that had run Snape's hearings, these two were brisk in their efficiency. In a matter of minutes, they had arranged their things in preparation for the deposition Harry was to give. 'So, Mr. Potter,' one of them began. 'When did you realize Mr. Malfoy was not able to actively participate in activities with He-' He stopped and cleared his throat a bit self-consciously. 'Voldemort?'

Harry took a deep breath. 'The evening the members of the Order of the Phoenix came to fetch me from my aunt and uncle’s' home…' he began, keeping his eyes firmly on the Wizengamot member, and not on Lucius.

* * *

Harry stared glumly at the notice on his desk from Gibson. She was sending him to Northern Ireland in early January to relieve an Auror already in Belfast. The summer had brought a spate of sectarian incidents around the city, as well as a horrific bombing in the city of Omagh in August, despite of a cease-fire signed back in April. The Ministry wanted to rule out the possibility that Death Eaters and any supporters who might have escaped in the chaos in the aftermath of the battle were goading small flare-ups into larger skirmishes. 'She really hates me,' Harry muttered under his breath.

'Who hates you?' Peter craned his head over the top edge of the Harry's tiny cubicle. Harry handed Peter the notice from Gibson in mute reply. 'Hm.' Peter swiftly read the terse note. 'I thought you were supposed to attend the trials for Lucius and Draco Malfoy. Isn't Lucius Malfoy's is scheduled to begin on January nineteenth?'

'It is,' Harry said shortly. He was scheduled to testify for both of them.

Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. 'Don't worry about it. We'll figure something out. I'll come take over for you for a couple of days if I have to.' He squinted at the parchment. 'She just did this,' he murmured. 'Five Knuts says the Minister and MLE don't know about this yet.'

'I don't want them to change it,' Harry said stubbornly.

Peter snorted. 'They won't. But they will make sure you're back here for the trials. I imagine Kingsley might make a fuss about it, though.'

Harry glanced behind Peter and his eyes widened briefly. 'Oh bloody hell,' he mouthed. Gibson was charging toward them in a manner that reminded Harry of the bad-tempered ewe that was pastured in a neighboring paddock from the Burrow.

Gibson came to an abrupt stop at Harry's cubicle. 'Potter, come with me,' she snapped. 'You, too, Wilson. You're responsible for him,' she added ominously. Harry and Peter shared confused looks as they trailed after Gibson to the lifts. They rode down to Level One in tense silence, Peter giving Harry questioning glances, and Harry shrugging in reply. Gibson led the way to a conference room near Shacklebolt's office and flounced angrily inside. Harry came to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Clustered at one end the large oblong table were Shacklebolt, Professor Carter, and Percy. Harry felt the blood drain from his face. He gulped and gingerly took a seat across the table from Shacklebolt.

'Why am I here?' Carter asked Shacklebolt quietly. 'Had to cancel my classes this afternoon because of it.'

Gibson slammed a purple folder on the table before Shacklebolt could answer, and pointed a shaking finger at Harry. 'Do you have any idea how close you are to unpaid suspension?' she nearly screeched.

Shacklebolt sighed and laid a placating hand on Gibson's arm. 'Christianne, would you mind telling us why you've called this meeting?' he asked.

'This!' she exclaimed, brandishing a letter in Shacklebolt's direction. 'Potter went off on his  _ own _ , without any sort of permission from anyone at Hogwarts or the Ministry, and wrote to Gary Durbin at Salem, and started investigating Professor Carter's background!'

'Oh, so that's what this is all about?' Carter tipped his chair back on its rear legs. He shrugged. 'Gary wrote me two weeks ago about it. Thought I'd like to know someone over here wanted information.'

'And you neglected to tell anyone else?' Gibson hissed.

'Why would I?' Carter snorted. 'I figured it was part of the job. I'm surprised it didn't come up before.'

Gibson turned to Harry, a snarl on her face. 'That's the second time you've overstepped yourself, Potter,' she growled.

'You did this on your own?' Carter asked Harry.

'Yeah.'

To Harry's complete surprise, Carter burst out laughing – deep guffaws that echoed through the conference room. 'You're all fools,' he snickered. 'I've heard about the kinds of dregs they had to have at Hogwarts the past couple of years teaching Defense. I can't believe you'd just accept someone, on the Minister's say-so.' He glanced at Shacklebolt. 'Sorry, Kingsley. No offense.'

'None taken.' Kingsley smothered a grin behind his hand.

'Great day in the mornin'!' Carter exclaimed. 'That boy's got more balls in his pinky finger than your entire department. Like I said… You're all fools for not doin' a little diggin' into my qualifications. From what I hear, y'all only had about two decent teachers in the past ten years or thereabouts. And one of 'em got run off just for being a werewolf. What is it y'all say? Rubbish?'

'Werewolves—' began Gibson primly.

'Aw, hell. You oughta see what some of the Sioux kids that go to the school in Devil's Lake can do. They start shape-shiftin'  _ before _ they start at Salem. Some of 'em can turn into grizzlies. All it takes is a few sensible precautions. And I'm told that particular person's priority was the students' safety. Everything I've been told about him is that he was a totally decent human being.

'And the other decent teacher was one of those Death Eaters in disguise. How in the hell did that get by you guys?'

'Because we weren't thinking like them,' Shacklebolt admitted.

'You shoulda been,' Carter huffed. 'And then you let a Ministry stooge in there, who didn't even teach… It's about time you got someone in here who doesn't take anythin' at face value.' Carter reached across the table. 'Good job, kid,' he said gruffly, holding his hand out to Harry.

Gibson stared at Carter for several seconds before she burst out, 'Are you mad?'

Percy, who had been silent to this point, spoke up. 'He's right.'

Gibson's eyes were bulging from her eye sockets. 'What?'

'Professor Carter. He's right. After everything that happened at Hogwarts and here, we ought to know better than to just let someone in without questions.' Percy shrugged. 'At the very least, we should have learned our lesson about that kind of thing.'

Peter glanced at Harry. 'You can go…' he murmured.

Harry nodded and pushed his chair back. He started to stand, when Carter opened his mouth. 'Hey, kid, why don't you and me go down to that bar y'all got and have a drink before I go back up to the school.'

Harry blinked. 'Okay…' He quickly walked out of the room, and went to the lifts. 'I'll just need to get my things…' he said to the older man.

'No rush.'

Harry didn't say anything as they rode the lifts to Level Two and he wound his way to his cubicle, and silently picked up his bag and coat. Once they were back on the lifts, Carter eyed Harry. 'How old are you, really?' he asked curiously. 'I mean, I've heard about you, but you can't really be as young as you say.'

Startled, Harry blurted, 'I'm eighteen. This past July.'

'Hm. You don't think like an eighteen-year old, kid.'

The corner of Harry's mouth turned up wryly. 'Thanks, I think…' He glanced at Carter. 'You didn't mind about me asking after you?'

The lift doors opened and Carter went through them. 'Nah. I'd have done the same thing if I'd been in your shoes. And you still have some friends up at the school, right?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah. Ginny, Hermione, Luna, Dean…' The lift doors opened and Harry led the way to an exit to Diagon Alley. 'It's just after the last few years; I didn't want to take any chances…' He tapped the brick wall that opened The Leaky Cauldron with his wand and ducked into the alley when the wall split and rolled back. He wound through the dim, dark pub to the counter. 'Hiya, Tom,' he called. 'Two lagers, please.' Almost as if by magic, two pint glasses, filled with frothy lager appeared on the counter. Harry picked one up and peered into the corners, until he found a table where he could sit with his back to the wall, and keep an eye on both the front and back entrances.

Carter noticed and hid a smile by taking a sip of his drink. He grimaced and with a surreptitious look around the pub, tapped his glass with this wand. Frost appeared instantly on the outside of the glass. 'What is it y'all have got against cold beer?' he demanded.

Perplexed, Harry sampled his own lager. It was pleasantly cool, on the lower end of the typical cellar temperature Tom served his lagers and ales. 'It's fine,' he said.

'I mean really cold, kid,' Carter snorted. A plaintive expression drifted over Carter's face. He leaned closer to Harry. 'I don't suppose you could tell me where I can get a glass of iced tea?'

'Of what?'

'Iced tea… Sweet tea served over ice in a tall glass?' At Harry's continued baffled look, Carter waved it off. 'Oh, never mind. Just add it to the list of things I miss here. Can't wait for the winter holiday and I can go home for a while.'

'So how does your school work?' Harry asked curiously. 'I saw a group from Salem here for the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago.'

Carter took a long swallow of his lager. 'For starters, it's open year-round.'

'Why?'

'Some of our kids need a place to stay when we're not actually havin' classes. See, in some of the more conservative areas of the States, the parents spend years tryin' to find a way to  _ cure _ their kid of magic. They think they're possessed by demons or somethin' and when they find out they can't, they call their kid an aberration of nature and kick 'em out. Disown 'em, too, sometimes…'

'I know how that feels…'

'Most of the kids go to the school in their region, but all the Native kids go to the school in Devils Lake. That's where they can get specialized magical training. Most of  _ them _ go back home and become shamans for their tribes or they work in the Ministry's regional offices back home as a liaison between the tribe and the Ministry.

'Classes are pretty much the same, though. The Native kids take most of the normal subjects and a few extras that address their cultural needs.'

'Sounds complicated,' Harry observed.

'Nah. It's just the way it is.'

Harry drew a finger through the condensation filming the outside of the glass. 'How do you know Kingsley?'

'He's got a brother that teaches at the school in San Francisco.'

'Kingsley has a brother?' Harry asked in surprise.

Carter nodded with a chuckle. 'Yeah. He left England about ten years ago after trainin' here as an Obliviator. Showed up at the school in Massachusetts lookin' for a position. Just as well, the assistant Defense teacher in San Francisco had just quit to have a baby. So, Gary sent Gareth off to California, and he never looked back. He's the one that told me y'all were havin' problems fillin' the Defense position here.'

Harry stared at Carter for a long moment. 'Why did you just give up your job in St. Louis and come out here?'

Carter's face darkened slightly. 'Just needed a change,' he said into his glass. 'I'm not plannin' on stayin' here, though. Not long-term or anything.' He shook himself slightly and changed the subject. 'The DA?'

'Oh, well…' Harry blushed and took several long swallows of his drink. 'I didn't mean anything by it. Just wanted to make sure we didn't fail our exams.'

'You ever think about takin' the Defense job at Hogwarts?'

'Sometimes,' Harry admitted. 'But not often enough to really want it.'

'Hm,' grunted Carter. 'You ought to think about it some more. It takes a lot to get a bunch of fourteen and fifteen-year olds to produce corporeal Patronuses. Maybe when you get a few more years under your belt. And anyone who can get Luna Lovegood to focus long enough to actually create a corporeal Patronus has the means to be a pretty good teacher.' Carter hesitated a moment, then asked, 'Mind if I ask you a personal question…?'

Harry started a little. 'Erm. I suppose. Doesn't mean I have to actually answer it, does it?'

Carter grinned at Harry's answer. 'Why does Gibson hate you so much?'

Harry shrugged his shoulders. 'You mean other than the fact I skipped my last year of school, don't have N.E.W.T.s, and skipped three extra years of training to become a full Auror? I have no idea,' Harry drawled sarcastically. 'I'm surprised you didn't think of that yourself.'

'I did, but after everythin' you've done, I didn't think anybody would be quite so petty.'

Harry snorted. 'Sometimes, I don't blame her. I'd be upset if I had to suddenly treat some wet-behind-the-ears pup fresh out of school like an equal. Especially a pup with an issue following rules.'

Cater shook his head. 'For what it's worth, I don't think you're doing anything wrong. Most Aurors I've known tend to bend the rules from time to time…' He pushed his chair back and stood up. 'If you still want to come up for some classes with the seventh years, you're more than welcome.' He gave Harry's shoulder a brief squeeze. 'Don't let her get to you. She reminds me of someone who hasn't done field work in a long time, or a school administrator who's been out of the classroom so long, they were still waiting to teach hinkypunks in fifth year the last time they taught a class.' He turned to leave the Leaky Cauldron, then paused. 'Gary's going to send a report on me to Minerva and a copy to you.'

'Thanks…'

'See ya, kid.' Carter strode to the back of the Leaky Cauldron and disappeared through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cluaran leana is the Gaelic term for 'marsh thistle'. I figured McGonagall would want a password that most students couldn’t guess.


	30. Word of Your Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Ron… I really want to see your idea…'
> 
> 'It's stupid.' Ron snatched the pile of lumpy maroon jumpers on the bed and nearly threw them into the small wardrobe in the corner. 'Fred would have thought it was stupid,' he added, almost too indistinct for George to hear.
> 
> 'I'm not Fred.' It fell from George's lips before he had given it more than half a second's thought. For all that they were identical in appearance, it often had annoyed George that people assumed he would behave in a similar manner to Fred. Ron stopped cold in the middle of the room, a pair of trousers dangling from his fingers. They stared at each other in silence that grew increasingly more and more uncomfortable until Ron began to painstakingly refold the trousers.
> 
> 'What did you say?' he whispered into the gulf of silence between them.
> 
> 'I'm not Fred…' George's arm reached out and snagged the pillow at the other end of the bed. He hugged it to his chest, fingers blindly seeking the edge of the pillowcase, twisting it between them once they found it. 'I'm not blind. Fred…' George took a deep breath. Sorry, bro… but it's true… 'Fred could be a git,' he said in a rush. 'And I want to see your ideas.'

'What'cha reading?'

Katie glanced over the top of her book. Timothy peered at her, clutching his old and battered teddy bear. 'A book, Timmy,' she said patiently.

'I wanna see it!' he demanded, dropping his bear and reaching for the book with sticky, grubby fingers.

Katie snatched the book away from Timothy's hands and held it in the air over her head. 'No, Timmy. It's not a book you'll like.'

'Wanna see it!' Timothy snarled, stamping his feet in frustration. The cup of tea at Katie's elbow shattered, spraying them both with cold tea and china.

Katie jumped up from the corner of the squashy sofa, holding the book aloft, examining it for damage. 'Timothy Bell, I said no.' She stalked into the kitchen and rooted in a deep drawer for a clean tea towel, Timothy's howls trailing after her.

'What's that all about?' Belinda asked, laying the top crust over a pie.

'Nothing,' Katie muttered, gingerly opening the leather-bound book. She grimaced at the tea stains splattered over the creamy page and dabbed at them. 'This was a gift…'

Belinda wiped her hands on her apron and held out a hand. 'May I?'

Katie wiped the remains of the tea off the cover and surrendered the book to her mother. 'George gave it to me…'

'George…?' Belinda's eyebrow swept up in inquiry.

'Weasley.'

'Yes, I know Katie… How many other Georges do you know?' Belinda snorted. She looked down at the book and her eyes widened and a rosy flush crept over her cheeks. 'Oh my…' she breathed. 'This is… Erm…' She coughed slightly. 'And you say George gave it to you?'

'Yeah. For my birthday a couple of years ago.' Katie retrieved the book and ran a thumb gently over the title. 'You know this book?'

Belinda laughed. 'Katie, your father lives and breathes books and literature. Yes, I know it.' She began to crimp the edges of the pastry together. 'It's just a bit unusual for a platonic friend to give someone that particular collection of poetry,' she added knowingly.

Katie shrugged. 'Don't read anything into it, Mum,' she warned. 'And George and I are just friends.'

'If you say so, dear,' Belinda murmured.

'Doesn't matter anyway. I think I've managed to upset him enough to damage our friendship.' Katie glanced down at the book in her hands, biting her lip.

Belinda slid the pie into the oven. 'You really like him, don't you?'

'Who? George?' Katie's laugh sounded forced to her own ears. 'Sure, he's a good friend.'

Belinda gazed at Katie with something resembling sympathy and gently patted Katie's cheek. 'There are none so blind as those who will not see,' she quoted.

'I don't feel anything for George beyond friendship,' Katie stubbornly maintained.

Belinda wrung a dishcloth out and began to wipe the flour off the counter. 'If you say so.'

Peter lumbered into the kitchen. 'What set off Timmy?' he asked wearily.

Katie turned on her heel. 'I am not having this conversation again.' She swiftly kissed her parents. 'I'll see you next weekend, all right?' She grabbed her coat from a hook by the door and Disapparated. She stood on the stoop of her building, staring in the direction of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Katie stuffed the book into a coat pocket and strode down the street to the darkened shop, glancing at her watch. It was just after closing. She shoved the door open and nodded curtly to Ron. 'Is he here?'

'George? Yeah, he's in the back.' Ron gestured toward the curtain.

Katie burst through the curtain, ignoring the acrid clouds of greenish-yellow smoke hanging heavily in the air. 'Are you done being angry with me?' she said, without preamble.

George jabbed his wand at the back door, letting the frosty December air in with a  _ whoosh _ . He rubbed his sleeve over his face, smearing soot over his cheeks. 'What?'

'You. Are you done being angry with me?'

George sighed. 'I wasn't angry at you, Katie. Well, maybe a little. I never pegged you for the non-commitment type. And here you are carrying on with a bloke, knowing it's not going to end up anywhere. I just don't think that's going to make you happy.' He turned to a set of shelves and rummaged behind a box. 'Here.' George set a pair of bright red heeled shoes on the table. 'You left them here…'

Katie picked them up by the straps between her thumb and forefinger, squinting at the chartreuse film that covered the shoes. 'Ugh. What  _ is _ that?'

' _ Tergeo _ .' George sighed and put his wand in a pocket in the sleeve of his robes. 'You know the Canary Creams?'

'Yes.' Katie set the shoes on table as far away as she could reach.

'I've been trying to do something for the holidays… You know – a partridge in a pear tree sort of thing…? It's not going well at all… I get exploding pear-flavored goo everywhere. Even in my pants,' George muttered.

'Oh, too much information!' Katie exclaimed, clapping her hands over her ears.

'Well, it was only the one time last week,' George explained. 'I still can't explain how it happened.' He shuffled to the door and pulled it shut, shivering slightly. 'Had a terrible time explaining to Mum how I got bright green goo inside my trousers.' George leaned against the closed door and gazed at the mess on the table with narrowed eyes. 'Maybe I'm not cut out to do this without…' He pressed his lips together in a thin line. 'Every time I try to do something with one of the products, like try to change it up a bit for a holiday or something, it just explodes and creates a terrible, sticky, smelly mess.'

'But I thought it was going well with Ron?' Katie asked in confusion.

George slid onto a tall, rickety stool. 'It is, I suppose. If I want it to stay like it is.'

Katie chewed a fingernail for a moment. 'But…?' she prompted.

George gulped. 'If I keep it like this, it just turns into a monument to Fred,' he admitted in a choked voice. 'I want it… to be… more…'

'More…?'

George hooked a foot around another stool and pulled it from under the table, offering it to Katie. 'I can't keep it the same,' he said softly. 'I can't just keep the same products on the shelves, never updating them or changing them.' His chin trembled briefly, and he clenched his teeth together for a moment. 'If I keep it  _ just _ like this, it reminds me of Fred. But if I change it, it feels like I'm betraying his memory.' He stared moodily at the scarred table. 'I'm… stuck…' he sighed.

'And you're basing this on…What? The exploding sweets?'

George huffed pointedly. 'You're not usually this obtuse,' he observed.

'I also haven't been round in a couple of weeks,' Katie countered.

George laced his fingers together, and spent several long minutes contemplating a myriad collection of brightly-colored stains on them. 'I can't think of anything new. I can, but if I try to actually execute the idea…' George waved a hand around the room. 'Well, you've seen the result. I can't do this alone…'

'Hey, George?' Ron poked his head through the curtain. 'I'm done up front, and the Gringotts deposit is under the counter. I'll take it in on Monday morning. And the inventory list is on the counter. I think we need to come in tomorrow after lunch. The Skiving Snackboxes are really low, especially the Fever Fudge and the Puking Pastilles. I can handle those, though. And I've got this really brilliant idea. I think it's brilliant, I'm not sure, but maybe after dinner you and I can talk about it. It's sort of like the trick wands, but not really, and I'm not quite sure how to actually make it, but it might work,' Ron rattled off. His mouth snapped shut. 'I mean, we don't have to do it, of course,' he added stiffly.

George rubbed his hands over his face. 'We'll talk when I get home, yeah?'

Ron's face fell noticeably. 'Yeah, all right.' He pulled his head back through the curtain.

'Oi! Ron!' George called.

Ron's head slowly emerged through the curtain. 'Yeah…?'

'I promise, we  _ will _ talk about it,' George tried to assure him. His eyes drifted shut. 'Tell Mum I'll be home by dinner, will you?'

'Yeah, sure…' Ron's arm snaked through the curtain, and hung up his robes. Presently, George and Katie heard a muffled  _ pop _ signaling Ron's Disapparition.

'Do you think he heard me?' George asked Katie, burying his face in his hands.

'Probably,' Katie told him.

'Well, there goes seven-and-a-half years of development. Must've set him back four years…' George muttered. 'We used to be horrid to Ron. Because we could get away with it. And I'm still doing it… No wonder he doesn't think he's capable of doing anything.'

'I think the answer to your question has been right here the entire time,' Katie mused. 'You're not alone,' Katie said firmly. 'You have Ron.'

'It's not the same,' George argued.

'So what are you going to do? Pack it in? Just like that?'

‘No…’ George pulled his magenta robes off and hung them next to Ron’s.

'You want someone to work  _ with _ you, whatever is the matter with Ron? He's got ideas. He's been the one making the sweets since you opened for the most part, and no offense, but they taste  _ so _ much better now. And he seems to have thrown himself into working here. So, the question for you is: do you want an employee or a partner?' Katie picked up her still-sticky shoes gingerly. 'So, I'm trying out this fruitcake recipe for the magazine,' she began. 'And I hate fruitcake…'

'So do I.'

'So if you're not doing anything, maybe you can come help me sample the cake?'

George slid off the stool and walked to the hook where his coat hung. 'I take it What's-His-Name doesn't sample cakes, either, eh?'

'What's-His-Name doesn't eat sweets,' Katie sighed. 'Doesn't even like to be at the flat while I'm doing my research.'

'You don't make any sense at all, woman,' George grumbled, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat. 'You tell me you're with him for laughs, but you don't seem to have anything in common.'

'We have plenty in common,' Katie huffed.

'Sex doesn't count,' George shot back.

Katie gaped at George. 'That was low,' she murmured. 'Even for you.'

'While we're pointing out each other's flaws,' George muttered. His shoulders slumped at the stricken expression on Katie's face. 'Does next Sunday afternoon work for you? I can come by after lunch, if we don't have to come here first and do anything.'

'Sunday afternoon is fine,' Katie murmured. She seemed to lean forward a little, but checked the motion. She spun around and darted through the curtain, the only sound of her departure was the echoing sound of Charlie's drawn-out belch.

George rested his elbows on the table and propped his head in his hands. 'I must be mad,' he sighed. 'And making a colossal cock-up of everything else…' He straightened and followed Katie out of the shop.

* * *

George knocked quietly on Ron's bedroom door late that night. 'Hey…'

Ron looked up from where he'd been sorting his clean laundry to put away, then wordlessly returned to his task.

George rubbed his gritty eyes with his fingers. 'The silent treatment isn't usually your style,' he muttered. 'What was it you wanted to show me?'

Ron shrugged. 'Never mind.'

George dropped on the end of the camp bed still set up in Ron's room. 'Is Harry still sleeping in here?'

'Most of the time.' Ron jerked open a drawer and tipped an armful of socks into it, sullenly shoving it closed.

'Ron… I really want to see your idea…'

'It's stupid.' Ron snatched the pile of lumpy maroon jumpers on the bed and nearly threw them into the small wardrobe in the corner. 'Fred would have thought it was stupid,' he added, almost too indistinct for George to hear.

'I'm not Fred.' It fell from George's lips before he had given it more than half a second's thought. For all that they were identical in appearance, it often had annoyed George that people assumed he would behave in a similar manner to Fred. Ron stopped cold in the middle of the room, a pair of trousers dangling from his fingers. They stared at each other in silence that grew increasingly more and more uncomfortable until Ron began to painstakingly refold the trousers.

'What did you say?' he whispered into the gulf of silence between them.

'I'm not Fred…' George's arm reached out and snagged the pillow at the other end of the bed. He hugged it to his chest, fingers blindly seeking the edge of the pillowcase, twisting it between them once they found it. 'I'm not blind. Fred…' George took a deep breath.  _ Sorry, bro… but it's true… _ 'Fred could be a git,' he said in a rush. 'And I want to see your ideas.'

Slowly, Ron stowed the trousers in the wardrobe next to the jumbled pile of jumpers and retraced his steps to his bed. He opened a drawer in the night table and pulled out a small journal and began paging through it. 'I got Hermione to show me how to work the charm…' he mumbled. 'It's not too hard, and I know it's a bit late in the season for it, but you know there's always going to be some bloke who waits until the last minute to do this sort of thing…' He held the opened journal to a rough sketch of a small, brightly wrapped parcel, complete with a jaunty bow on top. 'When you open it, there's about a ten second delay, and a six-foot tall tree pops out. Completely decorated and everything.'

George's eyes flicked over the charms listed under the drawing. They were all pretty simple, nothing a bright sixth-year at school couldn't handle. 'So what's the joke?'

The corner of Ron's mouth curved upward momentarily. 'The larger the box, the smaller the tree.'

George pulled his wand from his pocket and flicked it, making a pencil appear in mid-air. 'How big of a box are you thinking?'

'About like this…' Ron sketched a large box with his wand, the glowing lines floating in front of them. 'Deep enough so some pathetically small tree is sort of hidden inside. The small boxes ought to be able to fit in the palm of your hand. They can have really simple decorations, like all those paper chains Ginny's so mad about doing, or they can done up with fairy lights.'

George studied the smudged page in the journal. 'And Hermione helped you with this? Seems like this falls under her definition of unnecessarily deceptive…'

Ron snorted. 'She says if you're waiting until the last minute to get something, then you get what you deserve, especially if you think the best things are in the biggest boxes.'

'Have you tried it yet?' George asked.

Ron nodded. 'Yeah. It worked all right. The charm wears off and the whole thing disappears in a few days, though.'

'A selling point, that,' George chuckled softly. He sobered and read through the page again. 'Think you can walk me through it while we do the Snackboxes tomorrow afternoon?'

Ron's eyes widened, startled, but he regained his composure. 'Yeah…' he said almost  _ too _ casually.

'Brilliant.' George stood up and handed the journal back to Ron. 'Thanks…'

* * *

_ Tap-tap-tap _

Harry snorted and rolled over, pulling the quilt over his head.

_ Tap-tap-tap _

He pushed his head under the pillow.

_ Tap-tap-tap _

Irritated, Harry flung the pillow to the floor and tried to glare at the cot on the other side of the room, but all he could see was a blurry rectangular shape. He snatched up his glasses and shoved them on his nose, picking up his watch. It was just after one in the morning.

_ Tap-tap-tap _

Teddy had taken to smacking the rails of the cot when he woke up in the middle of the night to amuse himself until he went back to sleep. It usually didn't annoy Harry, but he'd been in the throes of a particularly delicious dream. Harry turned his head toward the cot, but Teddy still slept, his hands flung over his head, soft snores occasionally coming from his open mouth.

_ Tap-tap-tap _

The sound was coming from the window. Harry squinted at the frosty window and threw the bedding back, swinging his feet to the floor. He hissed as his bare feet came in contact with the cold wood, and he scurried to the window, opening it just enough to allow the small tawny owl to enter the bedroom. 'Rather late for you, Ariel, isn't it?' he asked Ginny's owl softly. She hooted in what sounded like a laugh and held out a leg. Harry took the letter and set it aside. 'Come on and I'll take you down to the kitchen. It's warmer and you can stay there the rest of the night.' He offered Ariel his arm, and she fluttered up to his wrist, claws gently pricking his skin. Harry padded across the floor and opened the door and stole down the stairs.

The kitchen was almost startlingly warm after the chill of the bedroom and staircase. Ariel gratefully swooped to the perch next to Errol, who merely shuffled over a bit to make room for her without opening his eyes. Harry added fresh water to the water dish and offered her an Owl Treat. She thirstily drank the water, but ignored the treat. 'Well, all right then,' Harry muttered. 'I'll just leave it here, if you want it,' he told her, setting the treat on the windowsill. He ran a hand over Ariel's soft feathers. 'You can go ahead and go back in the morning. You needn't wait for me to write back.' Ariel's large eyes narrowed and Harry chuckled a little. 'Unless she's told you to wait for me to write back?' he guessed. Ariel nibbled his fingers in response. 'Right. I'll have something for you after breakfast, then.'

Harry gave Ariel one last pat, then ran back up the stairs and dove for the bed, hoping the Warming charm hadn't worn off yet. He flicked his wand at the lamp on the night table and picked up the letter. Ginny didn't sit down and write one long letter. She wrote a bit every day for a week, then sent it all on Friday or Saturday. He sent a fleeting glance toward Teddy to see if the light bothered the baby, but Teddy had become a rather deep sleeper as he grew older. Harry reckoned he could set off a Conflagration Deluxe next to the cot, and Teddy might wrinkle his nose, but he would probably sleep through that, as well.

Satisfied that Teddy would continue to sleep; Harry picked up the letter and ran a finger under the seal.

_ 6 December 1998 _

_ Dear Harry, _

_ It's starting to get ridiculous. Not the classes, although they're ridiculous on their own. The Quidditch recruiters. Every week, someone's sent a letter to the school. I now have four from Falmouth (ugh, no!); three from the Cannons (sorry, Ron, but I'd prefer to be on a team that wins every now and then…); three from the Harpies (might not be too bad, but I can't imagine being around nothing but women all the time…); two from Montrose (that's surprising), Puddlemere (interesting), and Portree (but he's only just started – sounds a bit desperate, if you ask me); and finally one from Appleby. The recruiter from Falmouth offers more gold each time, even though I haven't really given them an answer one way or another. The Harpies' recruiter doesn't just write to me, she includes notes from Gwenog Jones. Who, apparently, also writes to Mum and Dad. As if I can't make my own decisions. As if going away to Wales at the age of eighteen is a bad thing! It's not like there's much to do in Holyhead, and besides, Charlie will be there at the dragon reserve, so it's not as if I'll be completely away from the family. _

_ But seriously, enough is enough. _

_ Did you meet the owner of the Falcons? The owner keeps dropping hints that if I sign up with them, and promise to bring you on as their Seeker, I'd receive a sizeable bonus. Apparently, he seems to think if he lands me, he gets you as well. _

_ My eyes are closing as we speak… _

_ G'night. _

_ 8 December 1998 _

_ Harry… _

_ Did you have Professor Carter investigated?! He mentioned it in class the other day, said he had to go to the Ministry for a meeting with the Aurors about his background check. I can only assume it was you that initiated it. I mean, nobody else has bothered to look into the background of any of the other Defense teachers, and you're the only real new Auror. _

_ So…? Did you find out anything interesting? _

_ We know the basics, but nothing else. He sort of keeps to himself around school. He seems kind of sad, though. I wonder what made him come from America to teach here. _

_ Hermione just told me to leave the poor man alone. He's got a difficult enough job without students speculating on his past… _

_ Hmph. She's no fun. _

Here Ginny's handwriting gave way to Hermione's distinctive hand.

_ I am fun, I just prefer to not spend my time needlessly digging into other people's past lives. _

Harry smiled and continued to read.

_ 9 December 1998 _

_ I just got the letter you wrote last week. How soon after Christmas do you have to leave? How long will you be gone? And I thought you had to testify at Draco Malfoy's trial…? _

_ Will I be able to write to you when you're gone? Wait, that was silly, probably not… _

_ You  _ _ are _ _ going to be around when I get home for the holiday, won't you? They're not going to suddenly change their mind and send you off to Merlin-knows-where before then, do you think? _

_ I hope not… I missed you terribly last year. _

_ 11 December 1998 _

_ I finally got to practice all-out today! Madam Pomfrey's had me on restricted practice since the game against Slytherin, but she made me come see her after lunch today and pronounced me healthy enough to do more than just hover on my broom at practices. Which is excellent, because I've been trying to get poor Dennis to improve. It's a lot harder to try and tell him, when he seems to learn better if he can  _ _ see _ _ what I'm talking about. _

_ Next week's going to be awful. Every class is reviewing everything we've learned since we got here our first year. I think they think we might forget over the holiday. And not only that, they have decided we need homework for the holidays. Maybe if I make it worth your while, you can help me with the Defense portion of it? _

_ So the train comes in at six next Saturday. Maybe you can come meet me? Ron's going to meet Hermione and then have dinner with her at her parents' house. But I'm sure you knew that. You and Ron talk about everything. _

_ I'll see you in a week. I know you have to work most of the time, and it won't be like last summer, but it'll be better than the few times we've been able to see each other this past term. I really miss that period between the end of dinner and when we went to bed. And while the letters are okay, it's not the same as talking. _

_ Okay, I need to wrap this up. Demelza and Hermione are threatening to hex me. They say the sound of the scratching is keeping them awake. _

_ Love, _

_ Ginny _

Harry smiled a little and set the letter aside. He leaned over and blew out the lamp, then slid down into bed pulling the quilt up to his chin. He fell asleep mentally composing his reply to Ginny.

* * *

_ Harry walked into a large room with a full length mirror. Ginny stood in front of it, turning to and fro; examining the fit of a dress Harry had never seen her wear before. Slinky, shimmering black, it skimmed over Ginny's curves, molding to her torso, before flaring out over the swell of her hips. 'That's a nice dress,' he said. _

' _ You think?' she asked, slowly turning around to face him, smoothing the material over her waist. She began to pace a little. 'I'm not sure about it.' _

' _ You look great.' _

_ Ginny stopped and stood directly in front of him. 'Really?' She spun in a slow circle. 'You don't find it too… grown-up?' _

' _ It's nice.' Harry could feel his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. _

_ Ginny returned to the mirror, her head tilted to one side. 'I don't know…' _

' _ Stop teasing me, Ginevra.' _

_ Ginny laughed. 'I'm hardly teasing you.' _

_ Harry grabbed one of her arms, and spun her around, roughly pushing her against the wall next to the mirror. His body pressed against hers, one hand tracing the line of the bodice across her breast. 'Tell me how this isn't teasing me, Ginevra,' he growled, his head dipping down, mouth slanting over hers. _

_ Ginny pulled away slightly. 'It's not teasing,' she murmured, her teeth closing gently around his earlobe. 'This is teasing,' she added. _

* * *

Harry stood in the bathtub, under the shower, his hands braced on the wall.

It had been a long night, punctuated by dreams that left him gasping for breath, clutching at the bedding. He'd hoped that once he woke up, the aching need that gripped him would dissipate, but even the bustle of changing Teddy and preparing a bottle for him didn't completely push it aside. He deposited Teddy in the playpen in the sitting room, where Arthur was reading the Sunday  _ Prophet _ , before dashing back upstairs, and bolting into the bathroom, checking the lock repeatedly.

He bent an elbow and rested a forearm on the wall, pillowing his forehead against it. The other hand slipped downward, making Harry smile with grim humor. Sharing a dormitory with four other boys for six years had at least taught him to take matters into his own hands and see them through with an astonishing rapidity that Harry hoped wasn't an omen of things to come later, when he didn't have to fly solo. He was grateful the sound of the rushing water muffled any sounds that might have inadvertently escaped. Not only had he learned to be quick about it, he'd learned to stay quiet about it.

Harry reached for the soap and washed, mindful of the time he'd been in the shower, highly aware any of the others might be waiting on the landing. He ducked under the spray and rinsed the lather away. He turned off the taps and reached for the towel he placed just so that he could find it without needing to actually  _ see _ it. He dried himself and threw his clothes on, grabbing his wand and sending a quick Scouring charm at the bathtub.

He unlocked the door and yanked it open to find George leaning against the wall. 'Leave any hot water?' George asked, peering into the bathroom. 'Not that I need any,' he sighed.

'Feel all right?' Harry asked, looking closely at George. He was pale, with dark smudges under his eyes.

'Fine… Just didn't sleep very well,' George yawned. 'Dreams…' His ear turned pink, the tip visible under the sleep-tousled hair.

Harry cleared his throat, mindful that George would cheerfully kill him for saying so, but he traced the pattern of his pajama bottoms, and replied, 'I know the feeling…'

George glanced sharply at Harry and lurched away from the wall. Harry stepped back quickly, flinching a little. 'Don't ever tell me anything like that ever again,' George sighed. 'I don't care if you and Ginny are married for twenty years with a dozen sprogs, that's not something I want to hear…'

'Erm… yeah…' Harry darted down the stairs and disappeared on the next landing.

George trudged into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, reaching for the cold water tap in the bathtub. He slowly stripped his pajamas off and left them in a heap on the floor. He stepped into the frigid water with an explosive gasp. 'Guess it's a good thing Timothy doesn't understand…' he murmured ruefully. 'He'd probably want to pound me into dust for what I was thinking last night…'


	31. Home for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'What my mother did is hardly relevant to this case,' Harry said pointedly.
> 
> 'Isn't it?' the second wizard asked archly.
> 
> Harry gazed at the wizard thoughtfully. 'You don't know what it's like,' he said conversationally. 'Voldemort didn't care who he killed or tortured, not even his own followers. And you're going to sit here and proclaim that she's less of a mother because she didn't do what mine did?' Harry's eyes flicked to Narcissa and back to the wizard. 'She did what she felt was right by her son. She tried to protect him in the only way she knew, because trust me, self-sacrifice isn't exactly a quality cultivated by the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black,' he added sardonically. 'And she saved my life. The first time I faced Voldemort the night of the battle in the Forbidden Forest. He thought I was dead and told her to check. She knew I was alive and she lied to him. And yeah, so what if it was just to make sure her son was alive and she probably didn't care what happened to me after that? She still did it.' Harry sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring defiantly at the wizard.

Harry trudged up the snow-covered path from the school gate to the large front door. McGonagall had written to him last week, asking him to meet her in the staff lounge. He pushed the door open with no little effort and stumbled into the entrance, stamping the snow from his boots. His footfalls echoed loudly in the entrance – it was quiet, and at this time of day, most of the students were in classes. Harry lightly ran up the stairs to the staff lounge and grinned a bit at the gargoyles guarding the entrance. 'Protean charm,' he murmured. The door opened and Harry walked into the warm room. McGonagall was sitting near the fire, talking to someone Harry couldn't see over the top of the large chair. 'Good afternoon, Professor,' Harry said, his voice dying when he saw Ginny rise from the other chair. He sent Ginny an inquiring look that she returned with small shrug. She didn't know why they were there, either.

'You're early,' McGongall said approvingly. She gestured to the tray on the table. 'Tea? Biscuit?'

'No. Thank you.' Harry felt his face crease in a frown. 'So to what do I owe the honor of this meeting?' he asked warily. 'I thought Professor Snape had been cleared…?'

'He was.' McGonagall beckoned to Harry and Ginny. 'I have been charged by Professor Snape to give you something,' she told Harry. 'I felt you could use Miss Weasley's company for this.'

Once more, Harry exchanged questioning glances with Ginny, as they followed McGonagall down to the dungeons, where Snape had once taught Potions. Harry wrapped his coat around himself tightly, shivering in the chill. McGonagall tapped a hidden door with her wand that slid aside to reveal Snape's living quarters. 'There were a few things he wanted you to have…' McGonagall said quietly.

'What could he have that I would want?' Harry spluttered.

'I do not know,' McGonagall replied briskly. 'However, he's told me that everything in that cupboard,' – she pointed to a small cupboard on the wall near the desk – 'is yours if you so desire.' She glanced at Harry over the rims of her square glasses. 'I’ll just leave you to it, then.' As she swept from the room, McGonagall waved her wand and warmth flooded the small sitting room.

Harry eyed the cupboard warily, drawing his wand. 'Do you really think you'll need your wand?' Ginny asked softly.

'Dunno,' Harry said. 'Who know what kinds of charms he's left on it?' He pointed his wand at the cupboard, forming the incantation in his head. It didn't open.

'You have to mean it, gumby,' Ginny said lightly.

'I know that,' Harry grumbled.

Ginny pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes. 'Want me to do it?'

Irritated, Harry shook his head. ' _ Alohamora. _ ' The door opened a sliver and Harry cautiously used the tip of his wand to open it further.

'How nice. Snape left you a few dust bunnies,' Ginny remarked dryly. 'And a few scraps of parchment.'

Harry glanced at Ginny's bag. 'Have your dragon hide gloves with you?'

'Yeah.' Ginny rooted through the bag and unearthed her gloves.

'Can I borrow them?'

Ginny looked doubtfully at Harry's hands. 'Don't think they'll fit you. And you're not charming them to fit, either,' she told him briskly, drawing the gloves over her hands. She reached into the cupboard and took out what proved to be part of a photograph and the final page of a letter. 'Isn't this your mum?' she asked, holding out the photograph.

Harry gingerly took it from her. 'Yeah… It is.' His eyes began to sting and he blinked rapidly. It was the missing half of the photograph from his first birthday. Lily sat cross-legged on the sitting room rug, giggling, saying something Harry couldn't make out to either himself or James.

'And this?' Ginny gave him the parchment.

'Mum had written to Sirius,' Harry explained. 'He'd sent a toy broomstick for my birthday. The rest of it was how they were doing in Godric's Hollow. I think they'd only just moved there.' Harry looked down at the parchment. The conclusion of the letter was brief, but Harry was more interested in the looping signature at the bottom.  _ Lily _ .

'How did Snape get them?'

Harry dropped into a hard chair, his knees feeling suddenly weak. 'He went to Grimmauld Place after… Dumbledore's…' Harry could feel his throat close. He inhaled slowly. 'He found these in Sirius' old bedroom.'

Ginny frowned. 'I didn't think Sirius lived there after he ran away from home,' she said. 'Not until the Order started using it.'

'Sirius had a flat,' Harry murmured. 'After they finished school, Remus lived there with him. I suppose Remus brought all of Sirius' things to Grimmauld Place when the Order moved in.' He looked down at the scraps of photograph and parchment in his hands. To anyone else, they were worthless, but to Harry he would have rather had them than all the gold in his Gringotts vault.

'Why would Snape only take those bits?' Ginny wondered.

Harry smiled and ran a hand through his hair. 'Because the letter was to Sirius, of course,' he told her. 'If you were Snape, would  _ you _ want to have a letter that starts off, "Dear Padfoot"?'

'Well, when you put it that way,' Ginny replied, arranging herself in Harry's lap. He was sitting in the only chair in the room. 'And the photograph?'

'It had Dad and me in it as well,' Harry explained. 'It's the one on the wall next to the bed in Bill's room.'

'Ah.'

'Dad and Snape didn't really get on with each other,' Harry added. 'And considering how Snape felt about Mum,' Harry trailed off.

'Understandable,' Ginny said. 'If I found a photo of you with Cho, I'd rip her right out of it.' She looked down at Harry's face. 'What's wrong?'

'Oh, nothing, really. Just thinking…'

'And…?'

'Just all the "what ifs". What if Snape hadn't turned to the Dark Arts when he was younger? What if Dad didn't get such joy out of taking the mickey out of Snape? What if Snape hadn't gone to Dumbledore with Riddle's plan to get rid of me? What if Snape hadn't saved my life on more than one occasion here…?'

'I hate it when you do that,' Ginny said neutrally.

'Do what?'

'Talk about Snape like he was doing any of this out of a sense of altruism,' Ginny huffed. 'Because you don't really think he was doing it for you, do you?' Harry's brows drew together slightly and Ginny held up the photograph. 'He did it all for her.'

Harry snatched the photograph from Ginny. 'I know,' he muttered. 'But it's not fair. He wasn't such an evil git as everyone thought. In need of a good shampoo, sure… Selfish and vindictive, okay. But he was never on the same level of evil as Lucius Malfoy.'

Ginny exhaled. 'Whew. And for a moment there, I thought you'd lost your mind.'

'Not yet.' Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny. 'I need to go. It's Narcissa Malfoy's turn today.' He rested his forehead against her shoulder. 'At least she's easy.' Ginny slid off Harry's lap and offered him a hand. Harry grasped it as he stood up. They walked in companionable silence to the entrance of the school. 'I'll see you Saturday,' Harry murmured before kissing Ginny. He'd meant it to be somewhat casual, considering classes were about to dismiss, but the second his mouth landed on hers, his arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off her feet, giving in to the demands of his fevered imagination. Reluctantly, he let her slide back to the floor and broke off the kiss. 'Saturday,' he promised, then walked away using his wand to open the heavy door.

* * *

Harry dashed though the maze of cubicles and threw his coat over the wall of his own small cubicle, before running at full speed to the lifts. 'Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn…' he muttered, punching the button. He was late. He glared at the lift doors and began to repeatedly jab the button, muttering, 'Come on, come on…'

'It doesn't come any faster if you keep mashing the button like that,' a snide voice said behind Harry. Avery Carmichael stood just slightly behind and to the left of Harry.

'Bugger off, Avery,' Harry murmured, glancing impatiently over his shoulder.

'It's your own fault,' Avery taunted. 'Skiving off and going up to Hogwarts like that.'

Harry spun around. 'What I did at Hogwarts is none of your concern,' he spat. 'Besides, McGonagall sent for me.' The doors slid apart and Harry ducked into the lift and resolutely kept his gaze on the floor. He'd had an uneasy relationship with Avery since he'd captured Nott. Avery's outright scorn had evolved into grudging respect. But occasionally, like now, Avery couldn't resist giving Harry a not-so-subtle jab, just to see Harry's hackles rise. The ride to Level One was over in seconds and Harry quickly made his way to the same small conference room where he'd given testimony for Lucius Malfoy.

He burst through the door, panting slightly. Narcissa Malfoy glanced up, startled. Her face quickly smoothed into neutral lines and she resumed her intent examination of her folded hands, resting on top of the table. She was alone in the room. 'The gentlemen from the Wizengamot left to fetch something a moment ago,' she told Harry, still not looking at him. 'They said they would return presently.'

'Oh. Erm… thanks…' Harry dropped into a chair across the table from Narcissa, several chairs away from her. He furtively studied her while they waited for the Wizengamot wizards. He had only seen Narcissa a handful of times in his life, and many of those had been during periods of great personal stress, Harry now knew. He was amazed at her ability to remain cool and seemingly aloof. The only instance where he had seen anything other than that remote expression on her face had been during the battle at school when she and Lucius had frantically searched for Draco. Harry wondered if much of anything, other than her son, would make the façade crack.

'Why are you doing this?' Narcissa asked suddenly in the tense silence.

Harry shrugged. 'Hasn't everybody suffered enough?' he shot back in a low voice. 'And if it weren't –' He was cut off by the two Wizengamot members entering the room.

As the first one settled into his chair, he began, 'Potter, you maintain that Mrs. Malfoy did not actively participate in any of the activities of the past year, correct?'

'Yeah…' Harry could feel cold sweat trickling down his back. 'I, erm, saw her… at Malfoy Manor, when Charity Burbage was killed…' he admitted slowly. 'She was there…'

'And she didn't do anything to actively stop it?' the other wizard asked coldly.

'Would you?' Harry challenged. 'If Voldemort was sitting three feet away from you, would you have risked the life of you, your husband, or your son and only child to interfere?' he asked incredulously.

'Isn't that what your own mother did?' retorted the second wizard.

'What my mother did is hardly relevant to this case,' Harry said pointedly.

'Isn't it?' the second wizard asked archly.

Harry gazed at the wizard thoughtfully. 'You don't know what it's like,' he said conversationally. 'Voldemort didn't care who he killed or tortured, not even his own followers. And you're going to sit here and proclaim that she's less of a mother because she didn't do what mine did?' Harry's eyes flicked to Narcissa and back to the wizard. 'She did what she felt was right by her son. She tried to protect him in the only way she knew, because trust me, self-sacrifice isn't exactly a quality cultivated by the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black,' he added sardonically. 'And she saved my life. The first time I faced Voldemort the night of the battle in the Forbidden Forest. He thought I was dead and told her to check. She knew I was alive and she lied to him. And yeah, so what if it was just to make sure her son was alive and she probably didn't care what happened to me after that? She still did it.' Harry sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring defiantly at the wizard.

The wizard flushed angrily, but bit back his angry retort. 'So you're saying Mrs. Malfoy was never a Death Eater, nor a supporter of Voldemort?'

'Check her arm, for Merlin's sake, if you want to see if she's a Death Eater,' Harry sighed. 'But in every instance where I had the misfortune to meet up with the Death Eaters, Narcissa Malfoy was not one of them. Her husband, yes. Her son, yes. But that doesn't make her one, does it? And as for whether or not she actively supported him, I can only guess…'

* * *

Of all the people Ginny expected to see in the entrance of Hogwarts, it was not Fleur. But there she was, a basket on one arm, shaking snowflakes from her silvery hair. 'Ginny!' Fleur exclaimed. ''Ow lovely to see you.'

'Hello, Fleur,' Ginny murmured.

''Ave you seen Bill?' Fleur asked. 'He 'ad to work late, so I zought I would bring heem somezing to eat…' She held up the basket.

'Out by the Owlery, I think.'

' _ Merci _ , Ginny.'

Fleur started to walk away, when Ginny remembered something Hermione had suggested. 'Fleur, wait! I'll… I'll go with you…' stammered Ginny. She hurried to catch up with Fleur.

'Zat would be nice,' Fleur said, smiling. 'I steel geet lost in zis place…'

They walked in near-uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Ginny never knew what to say to her sister-in-law, especially since she had despised her for so long. 'Erm… Fleur…?'

'Hmm?'

'Can I… That is, could I…?' Ginny cleared her throat. 'May I ask you something? It's a bit personal,' she added, giving Fleur the opportunity to say no.

'Of course.' Fleur turned her attention to Ginny, who was staring straight ahead.

'How did you know it was Bill?' Ginny asked tightly. 'I mean, how did you know Bill was really in love with  _ you _ and not the veela?'

To Ginny's surprise, Fleur's cheeks colored rosily. ''E was  _ normal _ ,' she said, with a light laugh. 'Most of ze ozzer boys or men I knew zat tried to geet my attention would say anyzing to try and eempress me, or fall over zeir feet around me, but not Bill. 'e never, ever treated me like I was some fragile zing zat might blow off –  _ poof _ – in ze breeze.' Fleur's shoulder rose and fell in a delicate shrug. 'Bill was normal,' she repeated, as if it explained everything.

They came to the bottom of the stairs that led to the Owlery. 'I think they might be on the other side,' Ginny told Fleur, gesturing toward the other side of the tower.

'Zank you, Ginny,' Fleur chimed. 'For ze company.'

'You're welcome,' Ginny replied. 'And thanks for the talk.'

'I'm surprised you 'ad to ask,' Fleur said peacefully. 'Considering zat is 'ow you and 'arry treat each ozzer.' Before Ginny could blink, Fleur swiftly kissed each cheek, before murmuring, ' _ Au revoire _ , Ginny. I will see you during ze holiday, yes?'

'Yeah.'

'Ah, zere ees Bill!' Fleur cried, waving a farewell at Ginny, before gliding away to meet Bill. Ginny hid behind one of the large shrubs around the base of the tower, watching Bill greet his wife. While every other wizard tripped over their feet or nearly lost their eyes in looking at Fleur, Bill reacted just the way Fleur had said. It was as if the veela didn't exist.

* * *

Ginny settled on the foot of Hermione's bed, her back against one of the posts. 'So?' Hermione asked, casting nonverbal charms around the curtains of her bed to keep the noise of their conversation from disturbing Demelza.

'So what?' Ginny asked innocently.

'Well,' Hermione began, 'I saw you with Fleur earlier. Without someone holding a wand to your head,' she added wryly.

'Maybe she's not as horrid as I thought,' Ginny admitted. 'And she does make a lot of sense.' Ginny let the surprise register on Hermione's face before quickly adding, 'Sometimes.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'She's not an idiot,' she pointed out. 'After all, the Goblet did pick her to represent Beauxbatons. You can't be flighty and compete in the Triwzard,' Hermione said, deliberately mimicking Percy's tones.

'She said something,' Ginny said slowly. Hermione's brow swept up in silent inquiry and Ginny continued. 'She said that Harry and I treat each other as if we were normal…'

'You do.'

Ginny gnawed her thumbnail. 'But shouldn't it be more… special?'

Hermione shook her hair from her eyes. 'But it is, don't you see? The two of you don't have to try and perform around each other, or try to live up to some barmy ideal.' She pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. 'That, in of itself, is very special. There are people who live their entire life and never have that.'

'It's like Mum and Dad…' Ginny murmured. 'Mum can go out of her tree because the twins spent all their free time making prank sweets, or Dad can collect batteries until they come out of his ears… And none of it matters at all…' She pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to plait it, face growing pensive. 'Luna said something a few months ago… What she didn't want to do with…' She unfolded her legs from under her and grasped the curtain with one hand. 'Better get to bed. Train leaves early tomorrow.' She slid off Hermione's bed and padded the few feet to her own, slipping into the warm bedding.

Sleep didn't come easily to Ginny that night. Too many images overflowed her memory, chasing each other fits and starts.

* * *

As Hogsmeade faded into the distance, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, Dean, and Hannah settled into their compartment. Conversation meandered from topic to topic in fits and starts, but it was never uncomfortable or tense, merely the result of an early morning and the intense schedule of a seventh year student. Near the end of the journey, Dean looked across the compartment at Luna, and nudged her ankle, propped on the seat next to him. 'What are you and your dad doing for the holiday?' he asked curiously. Luna had missed Christmas last year with her father, spending the next four months in the dungeon underneath Malfoy Manor, after being kidnapped from King's Cross by Death Eaters.

'Oh, Daddy's finally rebuilt the house and he and I will probably do what we normally do.'

'Plimpy soup?' Hermione guessed, recalling Xenophilius' boast that his recipe had been most sought after by others.

'And make paper chains to put on Mum's grave,' Luna added quietly. 'With asters. She liked asters,' Luna explained. She stared into the distance. 'We don't have a big do, Daddy and I. Maybe because Mum died the week before Christmas. It was her favorite time of year and ever since she died, Daddy tried to keep up with what Mum liked to do, but his heart isn't really in it anymore.' She shrugged. 'So we don't really make a fuss.' Luna used her toes to prod Dean lightly. 'What about you?'

Dean fiddled with the laces of Luna's trainers. 'I'm going home,' he said slowly after a long pause. 'I haven't been since I left summer before last.' He rubbed his eyes roughly with one hand. 'My …' Dean swallowed hard. 'My dad makes ham and candied sweet potatoes. Like he had when he was a kid. With plum pudding for afters. And we'll go to church on Christmas Eve. And Katherine and Charlotte will wait up for Father Christmas, and fall asleep on the hearth rug instead. The last time I was home for Christmas, Charlotte woke everyone up at five-thirty in the morning.'

'Does your mum know?' Ginny asked softly.

Dean shook his head. 'I wanted it to be a surprise,' he admitted. 'We're… talking…' He looked quickly out the window and Hannah quickly changed the subject.

'Neville's gran invited my dad and me to their house for Christmas dinner,' she said a little too loudly.

'Really?' Hermione asked. 'How did that happen?'

'Well…' Hannah scratched her nose meditatively. 'Dad ran into Mrs. Longbottom in Diagon Alley while he was Christmas shopping, and she demanded to know if he was going to provide a proper dinner for us. When Dad said we were planning to go to The Leaky Cauldron, she told him that was a load of rubbish and I deserved a home cooked meal for the holiday.' Hannah laughed. 'I think she's trying to fix up Neville and me so we can get married and start producing great-grandchildren for her the second I finish school.' Hannah bent double, laughing harder. 'Honestly! Can you imagine? Me and Neville? We have nothing in common except the color of our hair.' She sobered a little. 'I don't think we're going. Tom's related to my dad down the line. I think he's Dad's great-grandmother's cousin's nephew or something… We've been having Christmas dinner with Tom since I was a little girl.'

'I didn't know you were related to Tom,' Luna said.

'Yeah. When my mum died, he made sure Dad had meals until I came home from school.' Hannah gestured to Hermione and Ginny. 'What about the two of you?'

'Christmas Eve at the Burrow and Christmas Day with my mum and dad,' Hermione told her. 'I think Ron's going to have dinner with us on Boxing Day. Challenge my dad to a round or two of chess. Although why I need to be there for that, I have no idea,' Hermione added with a shudder. 'I'd rather sit in a History of Magic class with Binns for twelve hours…'

'Just hanging round the house,' Ginny said off-handedly. 'I'll probably go help George and Ron in the shop for some extra pocket money. Try to figure out what color my jumper is this year. If Mum did Ron's in a color other than maroon.'

'Probably not,' interjected Hermione.

'Totally a lost cause,' Ginny agreed.

* * *

'All right dears,' Molly said, fastening a pair of earrings. 'There's a pot of stew on the stove for your dinner and do try not to stay up too late.' She glanced impatiently at the door. 'Arthur, for goodness' sake, hurry! We're late!'

Ginny reached into the cupboard to set two places on one end of the scrubbed wooden table. 'Where're they going?' she asked Harry in an undertone.

'Some Ministry holiday do,' Harry told her, taking cutlery from a drawer.

'Why aren't you going? You're a Ministry employee.'

'Didn't want to go,' Harry said, shrugging. 'And I figured you wouldn't really feel like getting all dolled up to eat inedible canapés and mingle with people twice our age.'

'You do love me,' Ginny breathed fervently.

'Ginny, dear,' Molly said hurriedly. 'Why do you only have two places set? George is here.'

'Oh, right.' Ginny flicked her wand at the cupboard and another bowl flew to the table.

'Molly, I can't…' Arthur stumbled into the kitchen, trying to knot the tie of his dress robes.

'Let me, Arthur.' Molly carelessly jabbed her wand at Arthur, and the tie unraveled, then wound itself into an elegant knot.

'Brilliant,' Arthur grunted. 'We'll be home by midnight,' he informed Harry and Ginny. 'Just be inside the house by then, all right?' He held out a hand to Molly. 'Come on, Molly. Let's go show all those young pups how to have a good time.' They dashed out of the door and soon, Harry and Ginny heard the faint  _ pop _ of their Disapparition.

Ginny ladled stew into two of the bowls and began to eat. It had been a long time since the witch had come by her compartment on the train with the tea trolley. Harry ignored his own bowl, pushing it aside.

'I want to show you my parents' house,' he blurted.


	32. Acts of Intimacy

' _ I want to show you my parents' house,' he blurted. _

* * *

Ginny's grew round. 'It's still standing?' she asked incredulously, immediately realizing how stupid she sounded. 'I mean, when I was younger, my first year, I used to pester Hagrid to tell me stories about you,' she added lamely, squirming, hating to reveal just how star-struck she'd been as a first year student. Her face grew warm and Ginny knew it was turning a rather unattractive shade of magenta. 'He told me that it was a shambles and a miracle you'd survived…' she mumbled, mashing a carrot slice beyond recognition.

Harry folded his arms on the top of the table and eyed Ginny in something resembling amusement. 'Hagrid used to tell you stories about me, eh?'

'I haven't asked Hagrid for a Harry James Potter bedtime story since I was eleven,' Ginny muttered into her bowl. 'And you were saying something about showing me your parents' house?' Ginny prodded, desperate to turn the conversation back to its original topic.

'Yes, it's still standing, and I'd like to show it to you.'

Ginny blinked and looked down into her bowl, mashing another carrot with her spoon. 'When?'

'Got plans for after dinner?'

'You mean other than pestering George about when to give me a few shifts at the shop?' Ginny made an elaborate show of pretending to open a homework planner and running her finger down an imaginary day. 'Nope. Nothing else on the schedule for tonight.' She stirred her stew a few times. 'Why now? Why not over the summer?'

Harry drew in a deep breath. 'I've been to it precisely three times since my parents were killed,' he began quietly. 'The first was last Christmas Eve, when I made Hermione go to Godric's Hollow with me. I wanted to visit my parents' graves – I'd never been before. And she only agreed because she thought Gryffindor's sword had been hidden there. After we left the cemetery, we were trying to find Bathilda Bagshot's house. She used to live there, you know,' Harry added.

'Yeah, Auntie Muriel said something like that every bloody day we were at her house in April…'

'At any rate, we ended up finding my parents' house, and Bathilda, or what we  _ thought _ was Bathilda, met us there. It seemed to be good luck at first, because Hermione thought she might have the sword.'

Ginny's brow furrowed as she remembered something Harry had told her. She touched the crook of his elbow, covered by his jumper. 'Isn't that when Voldemort's snake bit you?'

'Yeah… Nagini was hiding inside Bathilda. She'd been dead for some time, actually.' Harry rubbed the back of his neck. 'I didn't want to go back after that,' he admitted shakily.

'Can't fault you for that one,' Ginny murmured, pushing her bowl to the middle of the table, no longer hungry.

'I didn't even go back to see Mum and Dad until my birthday last summer. Because I didn't understand, you see,' Harry said, as if it explained everything.

'Didn't understand what…?'

'What's carved on their headstone… "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."' Harry quoted. 'I didn't understand that night. All I could think about was that Mum and Dad were dead and gone, and didn't know or care what I was doing. I think it's the first time I've ever been angry at them for dying…' Harry rubbed the side of his hand under his nose and continued. 'They're still here, my parents… I didn't really understand that until I went to meet Riddle. And after everything that happened after that night, I wasn't in state to see anybody's parents, much less my own.'

'You can say that again,' Ginny agreed, clamping her lips shut, aware her sarcastic side flared up in moments of stress. Now was not the time for it.

Harry met her eyes and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a ghost of a grin. 'I was pretty bad, wasn't I?'

'Just a little. I've quite forgotten most of it,' Ginny replied, with an answering grin of her own.

'Anyway, the second time I saw the house was Halloween. I'd been going to the cemetery a few times a month after I started working. Just to talk to them, tell them what I was doing, and since Halloween is their…' Harry swallowed a few times. 'It's when they died, and I had this barmy impulse to go see the house again. There were two wizards there, stealing pieces of the fence. I suppose in hindsight, it shouldn't have shocked me so much. There are lots of wankers like Mundungus Fletcher who'll sell anything they can get their hands on. People have gone inside over the years… Taken fixtures here and there, like pieces of the handrail on the banister. They seemed to have left the upstairs alone, though. I guess even thieves had qualms about taking anything from the nursery… And then I charmed the house to hide it from view.

'So the next day, I talked Ron and Hermione into going with me to pack up Mum and Dad's personal things. And that was the last time I've been there.'

The kitchen door slammed open breaking the tension, making them both jump a little. George waltzed through the door. 'Do you want some dinner?' Ginny asked.

'Going out,' George told her. 'Where're Mum and Dad?' he asked, indicating the table laid for only three.

'Ministry holiday party,' Harry said.

'Oh right… Glad it's not me,' George said with a shudder. 'Right, I'm meeting Lee at the Leaky Cauldron, so don't do anything I wouldn't do with the house to myself, yeah?' With that, George trudged out of the kitchen.

Ginny glanced at Harry thoughtfully. 'Why didn't you tell me any of this before?'

Harry opened his mouth, but the words in his head remained stubbornly in his head. He wanted to tell Ginny he knew she'd felt like something of an outsider when he was with Ron and Hermione. He'd been making a conscious effort to include Ginny when he was with them, and as he stared at Ginny he knew it wasn't what he ought to say. 'I just didn't want you to worry about me,' he said lamely, cringing inwardly at how false it sounded to his own ears. 'With everything else going on with Snape and the Malfoys, I knew you'd worry about how seeing the house would be. And you shouldn't be worrying about me like that, especially when you've got N.E.W.T.s coming up.'

Ginny's eyes narrowed. She knew Harry wasn't being quite truthful with her, but she decided not to pursue it. Instead, she pushed her chair back, waving her wand over the table. The remains of her and Harry's uneaten dinners vanished and the bowls drifted into the sink. She walked into the scullery and retrieved her coat from its hook and returned to the kitchen, pulling the sleeves over her arms. 'Let's go…'

* * *

Ginny walked down a darkened lane, Harry gripping her mittened hand tightly. 'It looks pretty bad,' he told her, his breath appearing in puffs in front of them in the frosty night. 'Part of the roof's gone from the rebounding Killing curse, but the structure is stable. And then there are all the things that people could pry from the downstairs that're missing.'

'Is just from this past summer, do you think?'

'I don't know,' Harry sighed. 'I didn't notice much of anything about it last December, and it was too dark to really tell.' He stopped in front of a fence. I didn't get much past the gate,' he added sheepishly. 'But I can't imagine it just started last summer.' When he put his hand on the gatepost, the sign marking the house as the place where Harry defeated Voldemort seventeen years ago rose out of the tangle of nettles. 'That I didn't mind,' he said, indicating the various scribbled messages. 'Pulling my house apart for souvenirs…'

Ginny squeezed his hand. It didn't take a genius to know that Harry was an intensely private person and hated intrusions on his personal life from the normal sources like the newspaper and magazines. But for someone to break into his parents' house and spirit away the household goods as prized baubles must have been agony. Harry pushed the gate open, and motioned for Ginny to enter the rubble-strewn garden. He followed her and let the gate close with a  _ clang _ that echoed in the stillness. Ginny stared at the gaping hole in the roof with something like awe. 'Merlin…' she breathed.

'Looks pretty awful, doesn't it?' Harry crossed to the heavy front door, and pushed it open. 'You can go inside, if you want,' he added.

Ginny hesitated briefly, but nodded once and sidled past Harry into the entryway. She headed straight for the staircase, ignoring the rest of the house. As she put her foot on the first riser, she turned to him. 'Aren't you coming?'

Harry shook his head. 'No. But you go ahead. I'll be right here.' Ginny's hesitation stretched into several moments until Harry urged her to continue. 'Go on, Gin. It's okay.'

Ginny slowly tiptoed up the dusty stairs, feeling as if she were walking on someone's grave. There were two bedrooms at the top of the stairs. She was drawn to the side of the corridor flooded with the clear starlit night. Ginny stood in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat. She steadily walked to the shattered cot, her hand resting lightly on a splintered rail. Ginny could easily imagine Lily standing next to this cot, bravely refusing to stand aside and sacrifice her son. It was what her own mother would have done.

Her hand tightened around the rail and Ginny felt tears slip down her cheeks. Throughout her entire childhood, she'd heard stories about how little Harry Potter had somehow defeated the Darkest Dark wizard of all time, but in her mind, they had always had the sparkling quality of the book of fairy tales her parents had read to her. Never had she entertained, even for a second, that the reality was anything like this broken and smashed nursery. At least not until she had sat at Hagrid's knee, drinking in the tale of how Hagrid had found the baby Harry in the wreckage and transported him safely to his Muggle aunt and uncle. Even then, Ginny hadn't been able to picture the destruction that now surrounded her.

She let her hand trail off the dusty rail, breathing deeply in an attempt to rein in her emotions. She quickly slipped down the stairs, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. When she met Harry, standing just outside the door, she was a semblance of tranquility once more. 'Are you all right?' Harry asked doubtfully.

'Yeah….'

Harry tipped her face up toward the dim starlight and peered at her face. The remaining tearstains gleamed dully. 'It's something of a shock, isn't it?' he asked easily, dabbing at the dampness on Ginny's cheek. 'Makes you wonder how anything survived that.'

'You have every right to be a bitter, angry, cold-hearted arse,' Ginny murmured. 'But you're not.'

Harry smiled a little and pressed a light kiss to Ginny's forehead. 'Yes, I am. Ask Ron sometime. He'll disabuse you of that daft idea in less than ten seconds. Anything to take the piss out of me at least once or twice a day with you around.'

'I mean, it wouldn't have been a surprise if you'd turned out like Malfoy,' Ginny argued. 'How did you not?'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know. Maybe part of me remembered what it felt like to be loved all those years I wasn't.' He let out a long, shaky breath. 'But that's why I'm just a dumb Auror and not an Unspeakable…' He put an arm around Ginny's shoulders and guided her to the gate. 'Are you dying to get back, or can I take you one more place…?'

'What else did you have in mind?' Ginny asked.

Harry pointed down the lane. 'There. I'd… I'd like to introduce you to my mum and dad…'

'I'd like that.'

Harry kept his arm around Ginny's shoulders, as they meandered toward the cemetery. 'Most of the time, I come after dark,' he said. 'But every so often, I come on Sunday afternoon and sort of walk through the village a bit. It's nice,' he said wistfully. 'Makes me think about what it might have been like if Mum and Dad hadn't died… Could be a nice place to live later… Doesn't look at all like where I grew up,' he mused. Ginny began to think he wasn't actually talking  _ to _ her any longer. Rather, he was talking  _ at _ her – aware she was there, but not requiring Ginny to reply to anything he said. It made her wonder, briefly, if he ever spoke like this to Ron and Hermione. 'Here…' Harry steered Ginny to a kissing gate, and held it open for her.

'Where are they?' Ginny asked, peering through the darkness.

'Just over there,' Harry told her, pointing toward the rear of the cemetery. 'Fifth row down.' Ginny followed him, through a light covering of snow. Snow lay in drifts on the gravestones, softening their hard edges. He came to a stop in front of three headstones. Two were so close; they nearly touched, containing the names of James and Lily Potter and next to it, a smaller stone with Sirius Black carved into the white marble. Harry bent to brush the snow off the surface of his parents' headstones, his hand lingering in soft caress. 'Hiya…' he murmured. He no longer felt as he did last winter, that there was nothing there, no essence of his parents' lives left in the world. 'This is Ginny,' he continued in that same quiet murmur. 'She's home from school for the holiday. I just wanted to introduce you to her…' Harry straightened, brushing the snow from his mittened hand onto the side of his jeans. His arm slipped around her waist. 'Gin, this is my mum and dad…'

Ginny reached down and laid her hand against Lily's. 'Thank you…' she said, too softly for Harry to hear.

* * *

George stood outside the private room at the Leaky Cauldron. The sounds of people talking and laughing drifted on eddies of music into the corridor. George could feel his hands clench inside his trouser pockets. Most days, he was able to get out of bed, dress himself, function, run the shop and pretend as if things were normal, even though they weren't. He didn't particularly want to be here, but it was better than banging around the empty house, remembering Fred wasn't going to be with them Christmas morning, teasing Ron about his inevitably maroon jumper. He nudged the door open, visibly bracing himself as he walked into the room. 'George!' someone shrieked, launching herself across the room. Angelina threw her arms around him, clutching him tightly. 'It's so good to see you!' she exclaimed.

'Hi, Ang,' George said, patting Angelina awkwardly on the back. 'Back for Christmas?'

'Yeah, just until Boxing Day, then I have to go back to Toronto the day after.'

'How's the shop?' Angelina asked, towing George across the room to a small table occupied by Katie and Summerby.

'It's great,' George said evenly. 'Ron's been doing a fan-smegging-tastic job,' he added, making no attempt to keep the sour note from his voice.

'George!' Katie admonished softly, a shocked expression on her face.

George accepted a lager from a passing waiter and gulped a third of it before he lowered the glass to the table. Turning to Angelina, he said, 'Ron's doing… He's fine. Contributes ideas. Some of them are even good.' He picked up the glass again, and quickly drank the rest of the lager, signaling for another when the glass was empty. He caught a glimpse of Angelina glancing at Katie, then tilting her head toward him in question. Katie shrugged in response. 'I  _ can  _ see you,' George growled. 'No, I don't do this normally,' he told Angelina. 'The last time I got too pissed to even Floo home was in September. I'm just not in a very jolly mood. So, if you'll excuse me, I'll not be playing Father Christmas this year.'

'George, that was rude,' Katie admonished.

George's eyes closed and he set his second glass on the table. 'Yeah… you're right. I'm sorry, Ang.' He abruptly stood up and pushed the chair back under the table. 'I should go. I don't even know why I'm here…' With that, he swiftly left the room, without even saying hello to Lee.

Summerby glanced at his watch. 'Right, I've got an early Portkey tomorrow. I'll just go home, then.' He perfunctorily kissed Katie on the cheek and left the room, leaving Angelina alone with Katie.

Angelina propped her chin in an upturned hand and gazed at Katie. 'What?' Katie huffed, picked up George's abandoned drink.

'Nothing,' Angelina said. 'I just thought that George…'

'That he wouldn't be bitter and angry still?'

'No,' Angelina sighed. 'I'd worry if he  _ wasn't _ bitter and angry still… Especially now. But no, that's not what I was thinking about.' She pinned Katie with a severe look and said, 'I was talking about you and George. I thought the two of you would have been an item now. You talk about him all the time in your letters, and you hardly mention… Oh, what's-his-name… Martin, yeah... Martin. The two of you seemed pretty cozy when I left.'

Katie ran a fingertip around the rim of the glass. 'I can't… I mean, I like George. A lot, actually. But I can't… With George it's got to be all or nothing, and just having him in here, the way he was… It's exhausting.'

Angelina's eyes widened. 'You're such a bloke,' she spluttered. 'Dating that empty set of robes, even though he's got nothing to hold your attention long-term, just because he's got the emotional depth of a puddle.'

Katie shook her head. 'It's too much to try and cope with. I don't want to try and compete with Fred all the time. There's only room for two people in a relationship. George by himself is one thing, but George carrying around Fred's ghost… That's one ghost too many for me.'

* * *

Harry slid into the camp bed in the attic. Ron was still at Hermione's parents' house, so the attic was quiet, save for the ghoul clanging and moaning above them, but Harry hardly noticed it anymore. He picked up the newly repaired photograph of his first birthday and watched as he flew headlong into his mother's arms, Lily laughing while she set him to rights and sent him off toward James.

Ginny's words about him not ending up like Draco swirled through his thoughts. Even when things had been horrible at the Dursleys, he had still had lovely dreams about feeling safe and protected, or what he'd assumed at the time had been dreams. After his tête-à-tête with Dumbledore after Riddle sent that Killing curse at him, Harry wasn't so sure dreams were really illusions in the end. Certainly, Draco hadn't wanted for anything materially or physically as a child, unlike Harry. And given the lavish amount of attention Draco's mother had seemed to shower on him at school via packages from home didn't give Harry any more insights about Draco's childhood at all. Even after everything he'd learned about Draco through the testimony of both Narcissa and Lucius, Harry had to admit he knew less about Draco than he could fit on the point of a quill.

Harry replaced the photograph next to the ones that Ron had given him on his birthday and waved his wand at the lamp, lowering the wick so a dim glow permeated the room so Ron wouldn't trip over anything when he came home. He dropped his glasses onto the small table between the beds and stacked his hands behind his head, peering nearsightedly at the shadows on the ceiling. It wouldn't be the first time his perceptions about someone had changed so drastically.

If it could happen with Snape, it could happen with Draco Malfoy, too.

* * *

_ Harry slowly woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the window above his bed. He sat up so quickly, the bedclothes slithered to the floor, tangling around his feet. Impatiently, he kicked them off and ran downstairs. Today was his eleventh birthday. And it hadn't come yet. Every day, he'd been expecting the letter with the purple wax seal and the green ink, addressed to him, and only him. _

_ He raced down the stairs, irritably shoving his hair out of his eyes. No matter how short his mum cut it, it always grew back overnight. Harry couldn't figure out why for the life of him, considering he hated his hair so much. He pushed the kitchen door open and Lily stood at the stove, making his favorite breakfast for his birthday. 'Is it here?' Harry shouted, ignoring the pile of presents at his place at the table, eagerly scanning it for his letter. _

' _ Is what here?' Lily asked, in mock-bemusement. _

' _ My letter! My letter that says I'm going to go to Hogwarts like you and Dad!' _

' _ Oh…' Lily said, turning bacon over in the pan with dawning comprehension. 'You mean  _ **_this_ ** _ letter?' she asked, taking a large envelope from her apron pocket. Harry could only stare at it dumbfounded. It had been the longest summer of his short life, waiting for his letter. 'Go on and take it, gumby,' Lily teased gently. 'It won't bite you.' _

_ Harry reached out with a trembling hand, and gingerly took the envelope as if it might explode in his face like when he played Exploding Snap with his father. He turned it over and pried it open and pulled the thick parchment from inside. A slow smile blossomed over his features, and Harry dashed out of the kitchen, back upstairs, where he knew his father was, dressing his baby sister for the day. 'Dad! Dad!' he called. 'It's here!' He burst through his sister's bedroom door brandishing the letter, nearly tackling his father as he knelt on the floor, tying Eileen's shoes. _

_ Severus looked up and grinned broadly. 'That's wonderful, son…' _

* * *

Harry bolted upright, panting heavily. Ron turned over in his sleep and grunted, but didn't wake up. He grabbed his glasses and ran down into the bathroom, bracing his hands on the sink and staring into the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair, sighing in relief as it sprang back into its customary untidy mess and didn't flop into his eyes. His fingers traced over the lines of his face, seeking assurance his eyes didn't believe that it was the lines and hollows of James Potter that stared back at him, and not of Severus Snape.

Because the one "what if" he hadn't mentioned to Ginny earlier that week in Snape's office had been – what if Snape hadn't joined the Death Eaters in school and he'd married Lily instead…?


	33. Tis the Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Stop it,' Harry said, in a voice louder than he had intended. 'Arguing about what it was like last year isn't going to help. And trying to make this year into the best one ever isn't going to make any of us forget that Fred ought to be here, Stunning a gnome, transfiguring it into some god-awful sparkly shade of gold, then dressing it in one of Ginny's old doll dresses over your mum's protests.' He got to his feet. 'And the one thing we will not do is try and prod George into having a bloody good time.' He stormed for the scullery to fetch his coat, and stalked back into the sitting room. 'I'm going to go fetch Teddy. I promised Andromeda I'd take him for the afternoon, since Merlin knows she won't have a tree or paper chains or fairy lights. And it's Teddy's first Christmas, damn it!' Harry yanked the front door open, and stomped outside. Ginny blinked when the faint pop of his Apparition reached their ears.

Harry sprawled on the floor of the sitting room, leaning against the armchair where Ginny was curled into its depths, reading the Sunday  _ Prophet _ . He felt his eyelids droop and the print of the copy of  _ Quidditch Quarterly _ he was attempting to read blurred and swam. Ginny absently stroked his hair, and he leaned into it like Crookshanks. He reckoned if he could purr, he would have. Ron tossed a throw pillow at him. 'All right, mate?'

Harry nodded, scrubbing his hands over his face. 'Yeah. Just didn't sleep well…' He arched his back, stretching. 'Bad dream…' He let his head fall back against Ginny's knee. 'Well, not so much bad, but just a little… odd…' He cracked open one eyelid. 'What time did you get home last night?'

Ron's ears burned slightly. 'After midnight,' he coughed.

Ginny turned a page of the newspaper. 'Did you see George at all?' she asked Ron, a hint of anxiety coloring her voice.

Ron frowned. 'No. Why?'

'He just seemed a bit off last night is all,' Ginny said with a shrug. 'And I haven't seen him yet this morning…'

'I haven't seen him,' Harry volunteered. 'And I've been down here since six-thirty.'

'We're supposed to decorate the tree today,' Ginny said softly. 'After lunch. Everybody's –' Her voice caught briefly, but she continued. 'Everybody's supposed to be here – Bill, Charlie, Percy… We haven't all been here to do that since Bill left for Egypt.'

Harry touched the back of her hand gently. 'It's his first Christmas without…'

'I know!' Ginny snapped, keeping her voice low. 'It's the first Christmas without him for the rest of us, too! I just want us to have a good Christmas… Especially after last year.'

'It can't get any worse than last year,' Ron muttered.

'It's already worse than last year,' Ginny retorted. 'We may not have known where you three were, but at least we could hope you were alive.'

'Stop it,' Harry said, in a voice louder than he had intended. 'Arguing about what it was like last year isn't going to help. And trying to make this year into the best one ever isn't going to make any of us forget that Fred ought to be here, Stunning a gnome, transfiguring it into some god-awful sparkly shade of gold, then dressing it in one of Ginny's old doll dresses over your mum's protests.' He got to his feet. 'And the one thing we will  _ not _ do is try and prod George into having a bloody good time.' He stormed for the scullery to fetch his coat, and stalked back into the sitting room. 'I'm going to go fetch Teddy. I promised Andromeda I'd take him for the afternoon, since Merlin knows  _ she _ won't have a tree or paper chains or fairy lights. And it's Teddy's first Christmas, damn it!' Harry yanked the front door open, and stomped outside. Ginny blinked when the faint  _ pop _ of his Apparition reached their ears.

Ron picked at a loose thread in his jumper, allowing the silence between him and Ginny to widen into tense eddies. He cleared his throat and pulled the thread, unraveling the cuff a little. 'D'you want to fetch down the colored paper, or shall I?'

Ginny carefully refolded the paper, not meeting Ron's eyes. 'I'll get it.' She started to walk out of the sitting room, but Ron reached out and snagged her wrist.

'It's all right, Gin.'

Ginny managed a wavering grin. 'Yeah…' She pulled her wrist from Ron's grip and ran up the stairs to a small cupboard where Molly kept their Christmas decorations. There were a few fancy, blown-glass ornaments – the ones that Molly had been able to save from seven pairs of small, grabbing hands. The others had been constructed from paper, glue, and more glitter than Ginny thought was possible. Those were the ones they had made, when Molly needed a few hours of peace and quiet from the excitement of Christmas. Ginny sat down on the worn carpet runner and lifted the lid from the carton. The top ornament was one Bill had made when he was five. It was an outline of his hand, a few straggly pieces of glitter still clinging to the paper. Charlie had gone on a jumper binge one year, and made a series of nine jumpers, each colored the same color as their Christmas jumpers, with their initial in a contrasting color on the front. She wondered if they ought to leave the one with a bright yellow "F" on the front off the tree this year. A hand snaked over her shoulder and snatched the miniature Fred jumper. Startled, she tilted her head back. George stood behind her with the ornament crumpled in his hand. He stood there for a long moment, saying nothing, then retreated back into his room.  _ Well, I suppose that answers that question _ , Ginny mused to herself.

* * *

Harry lay on his back on the sitting room floor, staring into the branches of the tree over his head. The strings of fairy lights twinkled in the dark sitting room, and without his glasses, they seemed as far away as the stars in the sky. George had finally come down for lunch, looking as if he hadn't slept in days. He filed dutifully into the sitting room with the rest of them, and sat in the corner, watching them hang the paper chains Ginny and Ron had made earlier. Harry thought they had made even more than Ginny had two years ago, but he wasn't about to complain about it. George remained in the sitting room, his eyes fixed on a point none of them could see, through the familial bickering over whose ornaments went where on the tree, and the proper way to string lights on the branches.

Teddy had gazed at the tree with open-mouthed amazement, giving everyone a measure of much-needed relief from the uneasiness of celebrating, as long as they could keep their attention focused on Teddy, and the obvious delight he took in "helping,” his coos and giggles drawing smiles from the rest of the family.

Harry reached up and lightly set a glittery silver bell to swinging. Molly had pressed a large box of arts and crafts supplies in his hands, and insisted he make an ornament of his own to add to the tree. A pair of sock-clad feet appeared next to him, and Ginny stretched out next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. 'I can't figure out whether to be thrilled that we finally get to have a normal holiday this year, or to dwell on the people who aren't here to celebrate it with us…' he mused.

'I knew it was going to be difficult for George, but I didn't know he was going to withdraw back into his shell,' Ginny said, as Harry's arm tightened around her shoulders. 'Has he been like this long?'

Harry reached up and touched another ornament. It was the one Ron had made the year before they started school and was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a Snitch, heavy with gold and silver glitter. 'I'm not really sure…' He squinted through the tree's branches, trying to bring the lights into focus. 'I guess the past couple of weeks,' he murmured. 'But Ron and I just thought he was in a strop because a few of his ideas weren't working out very well.' Harry shifted a little, moving Ginny's shoulder into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. 'Ron said he overheard George and Katie talking one evening, and George said it wasn't really working without Fred. Said George tried to make up for it later by agreeing to try one of his ideas, but…'

'But Ron just thinks George is trying to make nice and doesn't really mean it,' Ginny snorted. 'Naturally.'

'I don't think that's true, though,' Harry muttered. 'But it was after that that George just seemed to stop trying. I don't know if it's because Christmas and his crisis of confidence just happened to coincide or if he's feeling tetchy because it's Christmas and he couldn't think of anything new without Fred for the holiday and it all sort of came roaring back to haunt him.'

'Christmas was one of their favorite times of year,' Ginny said sadly. 'They loved to organize snowball fights after lunch. Force Percy to wear his jumper, even if he didn't want to.'

'They did that my first year,' Harry told her, with a smile. 'Put it on him without letting him put his arms through the sleeves, then frog-marched him down to the common room, ordering him to eat lunch with the rest of us and not the other prefects.'

'That sounds like something they would do,' Ginny snorted. She gazed up into the tree silently for several long moments. 'I can't imagine how awful it must feel to know you'll never have that again…'

* * *

George drummed his fingers lightly on the windowsill. A small pile of colored paper littered the floor at his feet – the remains of the miniature jumper ornament Charlie had made. George remembered when Charlie made it. He and Fred had been eight, and Charlie had been in his third year of school. He and Fred had insisted that Charlie make their jumpers exactly alike. Even though there were several ornaments in Molly's box that Fred had made as a child, their presence didn't bother George as much as the jumper had. It was a reminder of everything he wouldn't have this year – nobody to help take the mickey out of Ron over the inevitably maroon hue of his jumper; no snowball fights with charmed snowballs that played Christmas carols as they flew across the garden – that had been Fred's idea; even the thought of making Percy wear his jumper because it clashed horribly with whatever swotty outfit he'd chosen to wear that morning didn't hold half as much of its appeal as it had the last time they were together for Christmas. 'How long ago was that?' George wondered aloud. 'My fifth year? Had to be… It was the year Sirius broke out of Azkaban, and we had the tower all to ourselves.' George waved his wand at the shredded paper and it disappeared. 'I can't believe it was only five years ago. Feels like a lifetime…'

He wished he knew how to tell his mother he preferred to not make a fuss this year. He didn't want to have the large tree in the corner of the sitting room, festooned with the memories of his childhood. He didn't want a handmade jumper from Molly, or a box of sweets from his other brothers. He didn't want to eat so much at lunch that it was necessary to surreptitiously unbutton their jeans before they left the table. He didn't want brightly colored paper chains decorating the walls and mantle. He just wanted it to be a regular day.

It was impossible, though.

Every baby needed a first Christmas. On their first Christmas.

Even George had to admit Teddy deserved to have this.

Just as long as he didn't have to try and be happy about it.

* * *

Ron slid into his place at the table the next morning, frowning slightly. 'Where's George?' he asked, a note of hysteria tightening his voice. 'Did he leave for the shop already?'

Molly shook her head and put a bowl of porridge in front of Ron. 'I haven't seen him since he went back upstairs after we decorated the tree yesterday.'

Ron pushed his breakfast away. 'I'll be back in a mo…' he muttered. He ran up the stairs, not caring if he woke everyone up by treading heavily on the creaky stairs. He skidded to a stop in front of George's bedroom door, sliding a little, as the carpet runner bunched under his feet. Ron's arms windmilled as he struggled to maintain his balance, then he began to pound on George's bedroom door. 'George! Come on! You can't  _ not _ open the shop with me today! George! I can't do it by myself!'

On the other side of the door, George curled into an even tighter ball, wincing each time Ron's fist crashed on the door. He pulled the pillow over his head to muffle his brother's bellows. He could still hear quite well out of the remains of his mangled ear, although he heartily wished he couldn't.

'George, please! I don't know how to do everything!' Ron nearly wailed. He leaned against the firmly shut bedroom door and stood there, panting, jumping when the scrape of parchment sliding against the wooden floor reached his ears. Ron bent down and picked up the scrap of parchment and thumbed it open.  _ Go away _ , it said. Ron slid down to the floor, gazing at the note. He glanced up when Harry stopped on the landing on his way down from the attic. Harry reached down and grabbed Ron's arm, hauling him to his feet.

'Leave him be,' Harry muttered, dragging Ron downstairs. 'Ginny can help out during the day. She wanted to pick up a few shifts for extra pocket money anyway. And after breakfast, we can run down to the village and ring Hermione from the telephone box. I'm sure she won't mind helping you out for a few days. I'll come by after work, and help put things to rights after you close up for the day.'

'But what if we run out of something?' Ron moaned.

'Then you'll make more,' Harry told him crisply. 'Everything's written inside that notebook of theirs. You've been doing that since the shop reopened. And Ginny's charms are brilliant, so she can do some of it, too. And there's not much Hermione can't do.' He shook Ron slightly. 'You'll be fine.'

Ron stared at him, hollow-eyed. 'What if I cock it all up? George will never forgive me…'

Harry heaved a sigh. 'It's not a shrine to Fred,' he said sharply. 'And I don't think you're going to turn everything arse over elbow in three-and-a-half days. You've got too much invested in it now, mate.'

'I just work there,' Ron reminded Harry quickly. 'It's not mine…'

'If you say so…' Harry pushed Ron through the kitchen door. 'Do you even have Hermione's telephone number?'

'I think so,' Ron replied faintly. He turned to Harry. 'Do you really think I can do this?'

Harry could see the old insecurities rise to Ron's eyes. 'I do,' he said firmly.

Ron took in a deep, shaky breath. 'All right,' he murmured. 'All right.'

* * *

Richard Granger eased himself to the floor, and reached for a handful of popcorn, carefully stringing it on a needle and heavy thread. He watched Hermione frown at a book, written in what she had said were runes. 'I thought you could read those squiggles like they were English,' he quipped lightly.

'I can,' Hermione responded absently.

'So why the fierce glaring?' Richard threaded more popcorn onto his string.

Hermione closed the book and laid it on the table in front of the sofa. 'I have to do this project for my Ancient Runes class,' she began hesitantly. 'I have to translate something somewhat lengthy…'

'And you're thinking about translating that book, eh?'

'Yes… It's just…' Hermione rummaged through a basket and unearthed a pincushion studded with pins and needles. She pulled out a large needle and threaded it with the same heavy thread Richard had used. 'Professor Babbling says she'll take the best one and submit it for publication.'

'And that's a problem?'

'It depends.'

'I need a few more details, Hermione,' Richard sighed.

Hermione poked a piece of popcorn on her needle. 'It's a collection of fairy tales,' she said softly.

'And that's not intellectual enough for you?' Richard laughed.

'It's not that, it's that one of them might actually be… true.' Hermione bit her lip and blindly pushed more popcorn onto her thread.

'Fairy tales aren't true, Hermione. You know that,' Richard chided gently.

'This is magic, Dad, anything is possible,' she retorted. 'But at any rate, Professor Babbling has also said that Dumbledore will also write a commentary of sorts for the piece that's published.'

'I thought he was dead,' Richard blurted in bemusement.

'He is,' Hermione said calmly.

'Then how can he write a commentary?'

Hermione smiled a little. 'All the previous Hogwarts Heads have a portrait in the Head's office. They offer advice and aid the current Head.'

'They can talk?'

'All the paintings at Hogwarts can,' Hermione said matter-of-factly. 'I imagine he'll just dictate it.'

'Oh, of course he will,' Richard said gamely. 'So the story that might be true?' he prompted, nudging the conversation back to its origin.

'I think I might have to start at the beginning,' Hermione said softly. 'There were these three brothers, and they met Death on a road one night. One of them was given a wand of immense power. It could do things with magic other wands were incapable of doing. He used it for destructive purposes and killed a wizard with whom he had a quarrel with it. He bragged about it and another wizard killed him while he slept. The second brother was given a ring with a stone that could recall someone who was dead. Not bring them back, really, but sort of like their ghost. He used it to bring back his girlfriend. But they were both immensely unhappy, and he killed himself. The third brother was given a cloak of invisibility. He hid under it until he attained old age and only then did he take it off and meet Death once more, but this time as friends,' she recited.

'You're saying this really happened?' Richard asked skeptically.

'Not so much, no,' Hermione admitted. 'But those brothers, they existed. They were real. I've seen the youngest brother's grave. And the wand, the ring, and the cloak are real, too. I've seen them as well… And if I write a translation of this collection of tales, I'm afraid the commentary might mention Harry… He's descended from the youngest brother.'

Richard's hands slowly lowered into his lap. 'I can see how this might be a problem,' he said evenly.

'There hasn't been a new translation of that book in centuries,' Hermione added. 'And I really want to do it. But I'd rather not drag Harry's personal life into a public arena.'

'And you think the commentary might make mention of it?'

'Yeah.'

Richard took a handful of popcorn from the bowl and meditatively strung the pieces onto the thread. He knew from what Hermione had told him, when they were preparing to leave Australia, that her friend preferred to live a quiet life and would strongly resist having it dragged back into the spotlight, now that everything was back to normal. 'Then I think you ought to say as much,' he told her, after several long moments. 'And if he can't guarantee to keep Harry out of it, then you won't allow them to publish your translation.'

'But I can't do that!' Hermione gasped. 'I can't just tell  _ Dumbledore _ something like that.'

'Of course you can,' Richard scoffed. 'You're an adult, aren't you?'

'Yes…'

'He owes you,' Richard said bluntly. 'After everything the three of you did last year, he owes you this, at the very least.'

* * *

Harry pulled a thick jumper over his head and picked up his trainers from the floor and crept out of the attic, without waking Ron. He stopped just inside the kitchen, long enough to shove his feet into his shoes, then grabbed his coat from the scullery and slid his arms into the sleeves, buttoning it as he slipped out of the back door. He noiselessly strode across the frosty garden to the broomshed, and flicked his wand at the door. Harry reached inside and took his new broom down from its hooks. He mounted the Nimbus 2002 he had purchased just a week ago and kicked off, swinging in a wide arc around the house to the window of Ginny's bedroom.

It glowed softly in the darkness, signaling that Ginny was likely still awake. Harry supposed she was reading one of those smutty Muggle novels she hid from Molly under her socks. She often read late into the night during the previous summer, until her eyes drifted shut and she had just enough time to blow out the lamp next to her bed before falling asleep.

Harry maneuvered the broom closer to the house and reached out with one hand, tapping quietly on Ginny's window. He waited a moment, then tapped the glass a little harder. The edge of the curtain moved away from the window, and Ginny's face appeared, wearing an irritated expression, that quickly changed to an impudent smile when she saw him. 'Open the window,' Harry mouthed, motioning to it.

Ginny slid the window up, and leaned nonchalantly on the windowsill. 'Isn't it a little late to be playing Quidditch?' she drawled.

'Come fly with me,' Harry said, holding his hand out.

'I'm not dressed for it,' Ginny snorted.

'So put a jumper on over your pajamas, put your trainers on and come out,' he beseeched.

Ginny's eyes narrowed, and she disappeared behind the curtain. In a few moments, however, she climbed out of the window, balancing lightly on the windowsill, dressed in a wooly jumper and her trainers. 'You talked me into it,' she said, taking Harry's hand so she could climb onto his broom. He slid back a little to accommodate her, and Ginny settled between his thighs, her back firmly against his chest.

Harry urged the broom forward, without a specific destination in mind. 'Want to steer?' he offered.

Ginny's hands closed around the handle and she headed for an abandoned farm on the other side of the village. As they flew over the snow-covered village, Ginny let her mind wander aimlessly. Standing next to Harry in the Department of Mysteries, her heart in her mouth, but knowing he needed her to be the Gryffindor she was. She would have stood beside him, even it meant certain death. Plotting with him to arrange it so he could talk to Sirius. Revealing to him what it felt like to be possessed by Voldemort – something she hadn't said to anyone else. Needing to see him after they won the Quidditch Cup her fifth year, flinging herself at him as he came into the common room. She had seen the surreptitious looks he'd been giving her for months, and had decided to take matters into her own hands. The relief at seeing him alive, if not entirely whole after the first battle at Hogwarts. Being strong enough to let him go after Dumbledore's funeral. Kissing him on his birthday. Wanting to dance with him at Bill's wedding, but being unable to do it. But she knew where he was, the entire time. Even if she hadn't known about his ridiculous disguise, she would have known it was him. The terror she'd felt at not knowing if he'd survived the attack on the wedding and the overwhelming gratitude to discover he had. Those endless weeks and months, waiting for news. Sitting outside his bedroom door after the war, keeping vigil during his nightmares.

She directed the broom around a stand of large oak trees and glanced at him over her shoulder.  _ What did I tell him…? Words weren't necessary…? _

'Tomorrow's going to be a bit mad, I think,' Harry said. 'With everyone coming over in the morning. I just wanted a few minutes to ourselves…' He smiled crookedly. 'To have a bit of Christmas that's good…'

'Thank you,' Ginny murmured. 'At least we'll have this to remember…' She pulled up on the broom handle a little, slowing down its speed.  _ The words aren't always needed, but it's still nice to hear sometimes…  _ She turned a bit, so she could face Harry, the broom hovering over the valley. She wrapped one hand around his, her fingers twining with his. 'I love you…'


	34. Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I never liked Christmas, really. Not until I went to school.' Harry tucked the edge of the blanket he'd conjured over Ginny's hands.
> 
> 'Why not?'
> 
> Harry hesitated, torn over wanting to tell Ginny about how cheerless his Christmases had been before he'd been taken in by Molly and Arthur and his desire to forget the ten years he lived year-round with the Dursleys. He supposed Ginny probably had an inkling, if she was as precocious as he thought she was, and had managed to overhear her parents or brothers when she was younger, or if Ron had ever told her about the miserable excuses for gifts the Dursleys had sent him, but Harry thought he hadn't. 'It was just like every other day for me,' he said neutrally. 'Nothing special.'

' _ I love you _ …'

* * *

Harry didn't say anything, much to Ginny's initial chagrin. Instead, the corner of his mouth tipped up a little and he calmly reached around her, grasped the handle of the broom, and proceeded to direct it toward the ground. He stopped near the abandoned farmhouse and clambered off the broom, Ginny's hand still twined with his. Harry's other hand seemed to float of its own accord to tuck several wayward strands of hair behind her ear, while a shy smile spread over his features. His head lowered until his forehead just barely touched hers. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.  _ This is a lot harder than I thought… _ Swallowing hard, he brushed his lips over hers, so lightly; it might have been one of the snowflakes that drifted down from the inky sky. 'I love you,' he murmured against Ginny's mouth, before he deepened the kiss.

* * *

'I never liked Christmas, really. Not until I went to school.' Harry tucked the edge of the blanket he'd conjured over Ginny's hands.

'Why not?'

Harry hesitated, torn over wanting to tell Ginny about how cheerless his Christmases had been before he'd been taken in by Molly and Arthur and his desire to forget the ten years he lived year-round with the Dursleys. He supposed Ginny probably had an inkling, if she was as precocious as he thought she was, and had managed to overhear her parents or brothers when she was younger, or if Ron had ever told her about the miserable excuses for gifts the Dursleys had sent him, but Harry thought he hadn't. 'It was just like every other day for me,' he said neutrally. 'Nothing special.'

'That's awful,' Ginny breathed.

'Were yours always like the one my sixth year?' Harry asked curiously.

'No,' Ginny admitted. 'Dad was making quite a bit more money by then,' she told him. 'And they were only having to pay for Ron and me in school that year. But we always had plenty of food and Mum usually cooked far more food than we could eat. And we all got something new, even if it was only the jumper Mum made. Especially for Ron, George, and Fred.'

'Was it happy?' Harry asked.

'Yeah. It's just been the last few years that it hasn't been really. Between Dad getting hurt three years ago, or Percy not speaking to the rest of us, the war last year, and now this year…' Ginny shook herself a little and leaned her head against Harry's shoulder. 'But this is nice,' she said softly. 'Ranks up there with the year Bill sent me a toy broom from Egypt,' she added lightly.

Harry nuzzled the top of Ginny's head, breathing in the scent of her hair. 'This one,' he murmured. 'This one's the best one…'

Ginny stiffened a little. 'Even with everything?'

Harry tightened his arm around Ginny's shoulders. 'What is it you told me over the summer?' he asked mildly. 'We're alive and the best thing we can do is remember them?'

'Won't make tomorrow any easier,' Ginny replied.

'No, it won't,' Harry sighed. 'But we have this…'

Neither of the spoke for a long time, until Ginny broke the silence. 'Do you think we ought to go back home?'

Harry laughed shakily. 'I don't even know what time it is…'

'Me, either,' Ginny said sheepishly. 'But if Mum's going round putting presents at the foot of our beds, she's bound to notice we're not there.' She grinned. 'We ought to have heard her if she's up and about.'

'Too right,' Harry muttered. He loved Molly like a mother, but his ears were still ringing from the hue and cry she'd raised last August the morning after Ginny's birthday. He stretched and regretfully slipped from under the blanket and bent to fetch the broom from the snowy ground. He held the broom out to Ginny and let her mount it first, then slid on behind her. 'It's all yours,' he said, indicating for her to take control of the broom.

'You spoil me,' Ginny snickered, not unkindly. Harry's Nimbus was much faster and more responsive than her Cleansweep.

'I do,' Harry replied smugly. 'Ron hasn't even had a go on it yet.' He wrapped the blanket snugly around Ginny, as the temperature had noticeably dropped while they had huddled on the garden bench. As Ginny kicked off and began their leisurely trip back across the valley to the Burrow, Harry wrapped his arms around her waist.

It had surprised him at how difficult it had been to tell Ginny he loved her. Not that he doubted his feelings for her, but actually saying it was something else altogether. He had never been comfortable with words. Language was something that was far too easily manipulated into empty platitudes or outright lies. He didn't need Ginny to say it, and he was fairly certain she didn't really need to hear it from him.

The words, in of themselves, were not necessary. But they were a long-anticipated acknowledgement that had been said hundreds of different ways for years. If Ginny hadn't been Ron's sister, Harry reckoned he would still have gone into the Chamber to find her. As much as he hadn't wanted anyone to accompany him to London and the Department of Mysteries, he welcomed Ginny's calm presence in the face of certain death. And unlike Ron and Hermione, she hadn't judged him for his inability to keep Voldemort out of his mind. She knew what a powerful draw it could be, and the sick fascination it held to be inside his mind. More than anything it was her composed demeanor, even when everything had been turned upside down and violently shaken to bits that drew him to her. If she'd been upset when he broke things off with her, she never displayed it to him. On the contrary, she'd quietly, but oh, so subtly, told him she would wait for him, given him the faith and hope he needed to trudge through the next several months when it seemed as if they would fail.

'How do you want to get back inside?' Ginny asked, interrupting his musings.

'Eh?'

Ginny pried one hand off the handle and pointed at the towering, lopsided house looming in front of them. 'How do you want to go back inside the house?' she repeated patiently.

'I didn't really think that far ahead,' Harry admitted, running a hand through his hair. 'I only got as far as begging you to come out with me.'

'And yet, you're an Auror…' Ginny said in mock-pity.

'Sod it,' Harry grumbled. 'Let's just walk through the bloody door. We're both of age, and it's not like we've done anything wrong.'

Ginny tilted the broom toward the broom shed, swinging to the ground gently. 'Ah, there's a plan. Bold. Decisive. I like it.' She clambered off and Harry hung the broom on its hooks inside the shed. 'Oh, damn…' Ginny whispered. 'Is that…?'

Harry's head whipped around. 'Molly,' he finished. They could see Molly moving to and fro in the kitchen. Harry squared his shoulders and grabbed Ginny's hand. 'Right. No sneaking around.'

They marched through the back door, each of them holding their breath against Molly's inevitable onslaught of verbiage. She merely smiled at them. 'Nice fly?'

'Erm… Yeah. Brilliant,' Harry stammered.

Ginny's eyes narrowed calculatingly. 'How did you know we were gone? She glanced at the small teapot-shaped clock on the shelf over the stove. 'We haven't even been gone two hours.'

'The stairs on the second landing are quite a bit louder than the others,' Molly said placidly. 'Saw the two of you fly off.' She put the final touches on a package and tied a large bow around it. 'Although why you felt the need to sneak out of the window…' she sighed.

'Because you technically haven't lifted that bloody curfew from the summer,' Ginny retorted in disbelief.

Molly flapped a hand dismissively. 'Different times,' she huffed. 'And I'm the mum. I get to make up or change the rules. Now, then. Go on up to bed, both of you. The sooner you're asleep, the sooner I can leave your gifts.'

'Don't you think we're a little old for all that?' Ginny asked skeptically.

'Probably,' Molly allowed. 'But it'll be fun, won't it?'

Harry winced a little at the hint of desperation in her voice. 'Yeah,' he said quickly. 'It'll be loads of fun.' He saw Ginny open her mouth, and squeezed her hand in warning. Ginny pressed her lips together and stayed quiet. Harry tugged on her hand and towed her upstairs.

Molly waited in the darkened kitchen, listening to the minutes tick by. At length, she rose from the table and went into the scullery. She flicked her wand at each of the squashy packages lined up neatly on the table where she folded laundry. They disappeared with soft  _ pops _ . All but one. Molly's brows drew together in a frown, as she fingered open the label. It was George's. She wondered when he had charmed the bedroom. With a sigh, she picked up George's neatly wrapped jumper and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. She tapped the doorknob with her wand and it opened a mere crack.

She slipped through the door and bent to leave the package on the chair at the foot of George's bed. 'I don't want it,' George mumbled.

Molly's fingers convulsed around the paper, making it crinkle loudly in the quiet house. 'That's fine,' she replied. 'I'll just leave it. In case you change your mind.'

George sat up, flinging the bedding aside. 'I don't want it!' he hissed. 'Bloody hell, Mum, can't everyone just leave me alone? I don't want to celebrate Christmas, I don't want to open what I'm sure is a lovely jumper, Mum, as always, but not when it's the only one that looks just like it. Every other day, I can do everything else, Mum, I can open the shop, I can get up in the morning, and act like everything is normal, but today, I can't pretend like it's all beer and skittles. Not today.'

'But everyone's coming round for lunch,' Molly said beseechingly. 'It will be the first time we've all been together since before Bill finished school –'

'We won't all be together!' George snarled. ' _ Fred _ won't be here, or have you forgotten?'

Molly clutched the squishy package to her chest. 'No, I haven't,' she said quietly. 'But it won't bring Freddie back.' She blinked rapidly, biting her lip. 'I know it hurts, George,' she began. 'I lost my child. But I can't just crawl into bed and pretend it's not one of his favorite holidays. I don't have that luxury.' She laid George's Christmas jumper on the chair and spun on one heel, all but stalking out of the bedroom.

* * *

Ginny burst into the attic and pounced on the camp bed. 'Are you mad?' she demanded, holding a small box under Harry's confused nose.

He blinked bemusedly, shoving his glasses on his nose. 'Oh,' he mumbled sleepily as the box came into focus. 'I thought you liked earrings.'

'I do, but this is too much,' Ginny breathed.

Harry touched one of the pearl earrings with a finger. 'Gin, nothing is ever too much for you.' He nudged the box. 'Put them on…'

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then carefully put the earrings on, pulling her loose hair back. 'How do they look?'

'You should always wear pearls,' Harry yawned, reaching for the gaily wrapped package at the foot of the camp bed.

'And what would you know about it?' Ron snorted from under his pillow. 'You've never bought jewelry for a woman before in your life before that.'

'I thought you were asleep,' Ginny huffed.

'I was,' Ron told her. 'But someone, who shall remain nameless, but her name starts with a G, came barging in here at the bloody crack of dawn to tell her boyfriend that her bloody gift is too much for her, even though he spent weeks dithering over whether you'd like them or not.' Ron stretched languidly, peering at Ginny. 'You'd better like them,' he told her sternly. 'Otherwise, he'll be drooping round like some wilted flower, and I'll have to listen to him whinge about it for ages…'

Ginny stuck her tongue out at Ron, earning a smothered, 'Oh, that's mature,' from Harry. She planted a loud, smacking kiss on his mouth, eliciting repulsed gags from Ron.

'I do like them,' she said softly.

'Brilliant!' Ron exclaimed sardonically. He held up his package from Molly. 'How much do you want to bet this is maroon?'

'I wouldn't even wager a Knut on that,' Ginny giggled. 'I can't actually remember you ever getting one that wasn't maroon.'

'Here goes nothing,' Ron sighed, ripping a strip off the package. 'Yep! It's maroon!' he cried in patently false cheer, waving the jumper over his head.

Ginny snatched it out of his hands. 'It's not entirely maroon,' she objected. 'It's got a lovely navy trim on the cuffs and neck.'

Ron grabbed it back. 'It's still maroon… How's yours, mate?' he asked Harry.

'Red.' Harry peeled back the paper from a long slim box from Ron. 'What's this?'

'Wand holster. It's charmed to make a small slit in your clothes right over where you wear it. When you remove whatever you're wearing over the holster, it'll repair itself. At least that's what the bloke at the shop told me. That way you don't always have to go about putting it in your pockets. Don't want to hex off a buttock, do you?' he asked in all seriousness. 'Remember what Mad-Eye said about people hexing off a buttock, because they put their wands in their back pockets.'

'I'll bet that was Mad-Eye who lost a buttock,' Harry chuckled. 'He wouldn't even tell Tonks…'

Ron's mouth dropped open. 'Harry… How…? Where…?' A small orange book rested in Ron's trembling hands.

'George said the owner of the Canons was a right nice sort of bloke, so I wrote to him, telling him you were their biggest supporter, and asked if he'd send an autographed photo of the team or something. I have to admit, a copy of  _ Flying with the Canons _ autographed by every living player was a bit beyond my expectations.'

'It's even got Barney Batting's signature,' Ron breathed fervently. 'He's their highest-scoring Chaser of all time…' Ron's trembling finger pointed at the name. 'Look! It's even got a message! "Best wishes, Ron. Yours, Barney Batting…" Bloody hell…'

'We'll have to go down soon, won't we?' Ginny asked suddenly.

Ron glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed. 'Yeah…'

'Do you think George will come out of his room today?' she asked.

Harry mutely shook his head. 'I don't think so. I heard George and Molly, erm –  _ discussing _ – whether or not he'd do Christmas with the rest of us.'

'Perfect,' Ginny sighed, a pall coming over the three of them in the attic. 'Should we…?'

Ron swung his feet to the floor, blindly searching for his slippers with his feet. 'No. It's not like we haven't tried before today. Leave him be.'

* * *

Andromeda lifted Teddy from his cot. 'You're not going to remember much about today,' she murmured, slipping a tiny jumper over his head. 'But you're going to spend the day with Harry and the others. It's not that I don't want to see your first real Christmas, but I'm not quite equipped to make it particularly jolly.' She slid a pair of trousers over Teddy's chubby legs, fastening the poppers up the insides of the legs. 'But this will be nice for you.' Teddy gurgled and loosed a stream of babble that Andromeda took to mean something good. 'Right. I know you don't really like Apparition anymore. Grandmum knows it hurts your ears. But it's the only way I can juggle your wriggly little self and your bag. If we Floo, your bag might end up in Edinburgh.'

She hoisted Teddy to her hip, in spite of his grunted protestations. Teddy wanted to scoot everywhere he could these days, not to mention feed himself. Both were rather messy undertakings, as Teddy got into anything Andromeda hadn't attached to the furniture with a Sticking charm, or ended up getting more food on his clothes than in his mouth. Andromeda walked down the stairs, grabbing Teddy's coat from the bottom of the banister and draping it over him, as she picked up his bag, waiting by the front door with her free hand. Before Teddy could begin to truly yowl about not being allowed to wander about the snowy yard, she Apparated to Devon and laid a hand on the gatepost for the back garden gate. It swung open and she walked through the sparkling garden to the back door. It flew open before she could so much as knock. 'Andromeda!' Molly said with a hint of forced cheeriness. 'Won't you stay for lunch, at least?'

'No. But thank you.'

Andromeda set Teddy on the floor and he sped off on his hands and knees, shouting, 'Haaaeeeeeeeeee!'

Molly wiped her hands on a towel and peered at Andromeda. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes. I'll come back about six for Teddy, if that's all right?'

'It's fine. I can –'

Charlie came slouching through the back door and stopped short at the sight of Andromeda standing in his mother's kitchen. He dug through his bag and pulled out a flat parcel, wrapped in brown paper. 'I… Here…' He handed the parcel to Andromeda, a dull flush staining his neck and cheeks. Curiously, Andromeda untied the string holding the paper closed and it fell away from a framed drawing. Her hands gripped the frame so tightly; Charlie feared it would crack from the pressure. 'I used the photographs from the paper in June…' he began awkwardly. 'And some from Harry's birthday…'

Andromeda's fingers traced over the likenesses of what her family would –  _ should _ – look like. Her face, with its serene smile stared back at her. Ted's round, laughing face was behind her, and Dora's heart-shaped, mischievous smiling face was in front. Teddy was cradled in Dora's arms, and Remus was on Dora's left, his arm around her shoulders. Somehow, Charlie had managed to leave off the near-constant sorrow on Remus' face, while maintaining his customary grave demeanor. 'It's lovely,' she said in a choked voice.

'You don't have to keep it out or anything,' Charlie muttered to his shoes. 'But I couldn't sleep one night and…' He gestured to the framed drawing.

Andromeda nodded with a tremulous attempt to smile. She lifted a shaking hand and passed it over her face inhaling deeply. 'Well, then… I'll just be going…' She left the kitchen, and in mere moments, Charlie heard the near-inaudible  _ pop _ of her Apparition. He ducked his head in Molly's direction and shuffled into the sitting room, where he was promptly greeted by Teddy's unholy screech of terror.

Harry scooped the baby into his arms and spent several minutes murmuring nonsense into Teddy's ear, rubbing the small back soothingly. Teddy's tuft of hair gradually faded from bright orange back into turquoise. Harry glanced at Charlie apologetically. 'Sorry… He doesn't know you very well… He's not too fond of someone he hasn't seen in a while. Took an hour for him to not look at Hermione with suspicion, and he just saw her at the beginning of November…'

'You ought to come round for lunch on Sundays more often,' Molly told him. 'We've hardly seen you in weeks.'

'Yeah, Mum. Use a baby to guilt me into coming to lunch every week,' Charlie sighed.

'You'll have a more regular schedule at the Holyhead reserve, won't you?' Molly persisted.

'Yes, Mum,' Charlie sighed. 'Every other weekend off…'

Arthur laid a hand on Molly's arm. 'Let the boy at least put his bag down before you start managing his social life, eh?'

'Hello!' Percy called through the front door. 'Where is everyone?'

'And who is everyone?' Ginny snorted. 'By my count, the only ones we're missing are Bill, Fleur, and…' she trailed off, glancing at the ceiling. 'Well, Bill and Fleur, at any rate.'

Ron gazed longingly into the kitchen. 'We can eat when they come, yeah?'

Molly pursed her lips and glared at the clock over the mantle. Bill's hand was firmly at "Home", even though he wasn't in the Burrow. 'Yes, Ron…' she replied tiredly.

'I wonder what's keeping them,' Arthur mused.

Ron choked on the cider he was drinking and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. 'He has to ask?' he muttered  _ sotto voce _ to Harry. Ginny giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth, before she could blurt out a snide comment about Ron's rather well-kept secret about his and Hermione's activities. 'You all right, Gin?' Ron asked.

'Brilliant,' she gasped, biting the knuckles of her hand.

'Hiya!' Bill said from the front garden. 'Sorry we're late,' he continued, as he strolled through the front door, smoothing his rather disordered hair.

'Oh, this is just too easy,' Ginny gurgled. 'It's like Stunning Crabbe or Goyle…'

' _ Joyeux Noël _ ,' Fleur trilled, as she swept into the room, kissing each of Arthur's cheeks, then Molly's, leaving them both somewhat flustered, as they were still unused to their daughter-in-law's French customs. '  _ Merci _ for the lovely zhumper, Molly.'

'Oh, I didn't make it. Ginny did.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. I believe it was July, wasn't it, Gin?'

Ginny flushed, and nodded. 'Yeah…'

Fleur face momentarily showed surprise, but she quickly recovered. 'Eet is very nice.' She pulled off her thick traveling cloak to reveal the dusky rose-hued jumper Ginny had knit the past summer.

'It was my pleasure,' Ginny mumbled, ducking her head bashfully.

'Really?' Harry asked skeptically.

Ginny thoughtfully watched Fleur move about the room, greeting the rest of the family. 'Really.'

* * *

Percy sat on the landing outside George's bedroom, his back braced against the door. 'I don't know what to tell you, George,' he said quietly. 'Everyone's trying to have a good time, but it feels so forced. Sort of like at Ginny's birthday, but worse. Mum hid all the wine,' he added ruefully. 'It's like we're all so desperate to try and make it like all the other Christmases, but we know that's not going to happen… And you and I both know it's not going to ever be like that again. You told me I could wallow in my own guilt or whatever, but not to drag Mum and Dad into it. I could say the same to you, George. You're here, George. It's true that Fred is gone, but George…' Percy's shoulders moved against the door in a shrug. 'You're still here.' He rose to his feet, his back sliding against the door. 'I don't know what else to tell you. It wasn't the same without you downstairs with us. We need you. The rest of us – we're not the same without you.' Percy laid a hand on the door. 'Don't stay away too long, all right?'

The door opened under Percy's hand and he took a step back. George was bundled in his new jumper, tearstains clearly visible on the dim landing. He swiped the sleeve over his face. 'Will it get better?' he asked. 'Like when you weren't talking to us? Did it get easier?'

Percy ran a hand through his hair and straightened his glasses. 'No.' George's shoulders slumped and Percy exhaled noisily. 'But that's a different situation,' he added quickly. He leaned against the wall next to the door. 'But yeah… the first year was the worst. It didn't get better after that because I had the ability to do something about it, but I was too damn stubborn to do it. You can do something about this, George. You don't get to bury yourself, just because Fred's gone.'


	35. Auld Lang Syne

Molly stood on the landing, turning the envelope over in her hands. She knocked softly on the door. 'George? You've got a letter from Lee, and breakfast is ready…' There was no response. Molly hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Instead, she bent and slid the envelope under the door, then swiftly pattered down the stairs.

Inside the darkened bedroom, George stared at the pale square on the floor, just beyond the edge of the rug next to the bed. He slowly placed his feet to the floor and slid off the edge of the narrow mattress, picking up the stiff envelope. Elegant calligraphy adorned the envelope, in place of Lee's usual nearly-illegible scrawl.  _ Must have had it professionally done _ , George mused. He turned it over and ripped the envelope open, pulling out the card inside. Lee was doing a broadcast of his show on New Year's Eve at the Leaky Cauldron.  _ Must be a swanky do, if he's sent out the fancy invites. _ George flipped the card over, revealing an untidy message from Lee.

_ George, _

_ Please come. You haven't been anywhere in ages. Everyone misses you, mate. _

_ Bring Ron and Harry, too. _

_ And feel free to bring a date! And if Harry and Ron want to bring Ginny and Hermione, the more the merrier. _

_ Lee _

George sighed and dropped the invitation on the desk. People kept telling him he didn't have to bury himself. First Katie, then Percy. 'New year… Maybe I ought to get out a bit more…' It wouldn't be so hard if he didn't feel so guilty about going out and having fun without Fred. He swallowed hard and opened the bedroom door. At least Christmas was over and George had been neglecting the shop dreadfully for the last week. 'Just get in there and do it, George, just like you did in August…' He padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. The murmurs around the table died for a brief moment, then quickly began again. George was relieved when they ignored his reappearance, and took his seat at the scrubbed wooden table. He accepted a bowl of porridge from Molly and stirred sugar and raisins into it. 'So, erm… Lee's doing his show on Thursday night from the Leaky Cauldron, if you want to go,' he said to Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

'Like a party?' Ginny asked.

'Yeah, I suppose…' George bent his head over his bowl.

'Dress robes?' Ron asked, his lip curling in distaste.

George shrugged. 'If you want. Invitation just said dressy attire.'

'I'm game, as long I can wear something besides dress robes,' Ron muttered. 'Can I bring Hermione?'

'Of course you can,' George said crossly. 'Didn't I just say that?'

'No.' Ron kept his eyes on his breakfast.

'Well, you can,' George mumbled shortly.

Harry eyed Ginny and tilted his head toward George, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. Ginny spread jam on her toast and gazed at George while she nibbled the edges for a moment before she nodded. 'Might be fun,' she murmured.

'Will you two stop doing that?' Ron exclaimed.

'Stop doing what?' Harry asked, glancing down confusedly at his hands. They were both visible above the table, as were Ginny's.

'That thing where you don't actually talk to each other!' Ron huffed. 'It's a bit weird, isn't it?'

'Did you have a row with Hermione or something?' George asked Ron. 'You're not normally in a strop unless you've had a row with your better half.' He glanced at Harry. 'Make that  _ halves _ .'

'Oh, ha-bloody-ha,' Ron grunted, annoyed. 'Are you going to come into the shop today or not?'

'I thought I'd check the inventory to see what we're low on. I figure we'll have some students come by before they go back to school.' George toyed with his spoon.

'Brilliant,' Ron grumbled. 'If we go now, I can ring Hermione from the telephone box in the village, and see if she can come help for a bit.'

'The two of you coming?' George asked Harry and Ginny.

'Absolutely. I can add a few more Galleons to my pocket money,' Ginny told him.

'Anything to help,' George muttered.

Molly set her teacup down in its saucer hard. 'Isn't it a little too early for you lot to start in on each other?' she asked.

'Sorry, Mum,' Ron murmured contritely.

'Yeah, Mum… Sorry,' breathed George.

'Now, if you're going to the shop, you'd better go. I'm expecting Fleur later, and I don't want to be in the middle of doing the washing up when she gets here.'

'Since when are you and Fleur chums?' Ron wondered.

'I can have my daughter-in-law over for tea, now, can't I?' Molly retorted.

'Sure, Mum, whatever you want,' George said hastily, not wanting to get Molly's hackles up so early in the day. The last time they'd done that, she had starched his pants so much; they'd practically stood on their own. He'd chafed in several unmentionable places as well. 'Come on. Let's get going.' He shoved his chair away from the table and stood up.

'We'll be in when we're dressed.' Harry indicated his and Ginny's attire. Neither of them had expected to do anything, and were still in pajamas and dressing gowns.

'Fine,' George told them, grabbing his coat and walking out the back door. He Apparated nearly as soon as he was through the garden gate.

Ron still sat in his chair, a piece of toast dangling from his fingers, staring off into space. Harry noticed he looked more exhausted than Harry had ever seen him look before. Ron had pushed himself to the limit the past week, going in to the shop early, staying late, seemingly everywhere at once. Even Christmas Eve, he'd stayed so late, cleaning and restocking shelves with what they had left in the back; dinner had been over for some time by the time he had trudged into the garden. 'All right, mate?' Harry asked quietly.

Ron started a little, dropping his uneaten toast. 'Yeah. Brilliant,' he said darkly.

'You just seem a little tetchy.'

'That's an understatement,' Ginny chimed from behind Harry.

'Just tired, all right?' Ron said, picking up his toast, and cramming it into his mouth. 'I need to go ring Hermione before it gets too late.' He slid out of his chair. 'I'll see you at the shop.'

* * *

Harry knocked on Ginny's door. 'Gin? Are you ready to go?'

The door opened and Ginny walked out, pulling her hair into a ponytail. 'I am now.' She led the way down the stairs, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the closed kitchen door, making Harry run into her.

'Oof! What'd you…?'

Ginny reached back and covered his mouth with her hand. 'Shhh!' She leaned closer to the door, straining to hear the murmured conversation on the other side.

'How long have you been trying?' Molly asked an unidentified person on the other side of the door. There was a long silence before the person gave her a muffled reply. 'It's only been a few months, dear. And you've only been married a bit more than a year.'

Ginny turned to Harry. 'It's Fleur!' she mouthed, able to discern the tones of her brother's wife, if not the words.

'Just give it some time. It's not going to happen overnight,' Molly said soothingly.

'What is she talking about?' Harry whispered in Ginny's ear.

'Don't know,' Ginny murmured.

'How many do you want?' Molly asked curiously.

' _ Trois _ . Three…' There was a pause. 'Bill, he only wants two.'

'Well, I can understand that,' Molly told her. 'It was rather rough on him, being the eldest of so many.'

'They must be trying to have a baby,' Ginny breathed.

'I kind of figured that,' Harry replied into her ear. 'Let's go out the front door… I don't want to interrupt.'

'Yeah…' Ginny said, with a twinge of pity. They tiptoed to the front door, slipping around the side of house to the back. 'Wow. You'd think everything would just come easily to Fleur. Even getting pregnant…'

'I wouldn't know,' Harry admitted. 'I'm pretty sketchy on the details of that.'

Ginny stopped with one hand on the back garden gate. 'You don't know where babies come from?' she asked incredulously.

'Yes, I know where babies come from,' Harry huffed. 'It's just the details, like what's considered difficult that I'm not too sure of.' Ginny's mouth opened, and before she could launch into an intricately detailed explanation of just what constituted details, Harry held up a hand to stem the tide of words. 'And I'm really all right with that for the mo.'

'Oh, fine,' Ginny retorted with a toss of her head. 'Miss a chance to further your education.'

'You've been around Hermione too much,' Harry said resignedly, turning on the spot and Apparating to Diagon Alley.

Ron stalked into the shop, slamming the door behind him. 'You know, I understand. I get it. I understand you miss Fred and you weren't in the mood to celebrate Christmas. And I know I work here, and I'm expected to do what I did last week, with no questions, but bloody hell, George! I busted my arse almost non-stop for  _ days _ ! I did my job  _ and _ yours! And you just strolled into the kitchen, announced you were coming in, and didn't even bother to say thank you!'

George looked up from the sales records from the past several days. 'You really did a bang-up job.'

'Of course, I did!' Ron snarled. 'What did you think I was going to do? Let it all go to sixes and sevens because you weren't around?' he added indignantly.

'Well, no. But we don't have to do anything but make what products we're out of or low on. The front looks great, and we just have to change the window.' He went into the back room and set a cauldron on the scarred table. Ron followed him, still seething. 'I'm sorry, Ron,' George told the assorted ingredients in front of him. 'I'm trying… I really am. '

'Yeah. I know.'

'Thank you,' George said sincerely. 'For keeping it going.'

Ron didn't say anything. His lips pressed together and he nodded once, then grabbed another cauldron. 'Right…' he sighed. 'We're completely out of Daydream Charms.'

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was packed to the rafters. Harry kept a tight grip on Ginny's hand, as they followed George through the throng of revelers. He felt someone's hand familiarly pat his bum, and he turned around to glare at Ginny, but the hand that he wasn't holding was held tightly by Ron, who in turn, towed Hermione through the crowd. 'What?' she yelled over the din of music and conversation around them.

Harry's eyes darted around the room. 'Nothing…' He shook his head and lunged to catch up to George, already at the entrance to a private parlor, showing his invitation to a burly wizard, standing outside the door.

Lee's party occupied four of the private parlors on the first floor of the pub. Somehow, seemingly solid walls had been removed between them to create one large room. Once through the doors, the cacophony from downstairs was replaced by that of Lee's raucous radio program. 'Whew!' Ron breathed. 'Thought we'd never get up here.'

'Let's find a table,' Harry shouted. Milling about in the midst of so many people made him uneasy.

'There's one in the corner,' Hermione said loudly, pointing to a tiny scrap of a table whose appeal lay in the four chairs that surrounded it. They began to wend their way through clusters of people holding drinks and plates of finger foods. They wriggled around a few occupied tables set too close to each other and finally managed to reach the empty table. 'No wonder it's not been taken,' Hermione gasped, pulling her cloak off her shoulders and draping it over the chair.

'How on earth are we going to manage drinks or anything without spilling it down someone?' Ron asked.

Ginny grinned and held up Hermione's beaded handbag. 'We thought it might be a bit crowded.'

'Brilliant!' Ron exclaimed. 'What've you got in there?'

'Butterbeers, sandwiches, some fruit…' Ginny opened the clasp, peering inside. 'Oh, and Mum made some fudge…'

'At least we won't starve.' Ron settled on the spindly chair gingerly. It rocked precariously under his body.

Ginny shrugged her cloak off and set the handbag in the middle of the table. Harry's eyes widened appreciatively at the dress she wore underneath the cloak. Not for the first time, he wondered if she could read his mind. It was as if she had pulled a dress from his dreams. Gleaming black satin skimmed the curves of her body, making his mouth go dry. He blindly reached into the handbag, groping for a bottle of butterbeer. 'Where did George go?' Ginny wondered.

Ron scanned the crowd until he found George on the other side of the room, sitting with Katie. 'There,' he told her. He grabbed Hermione's hand and tugged her to a space that had been designated for dancing. Ron wasn't exactly graceful, but it was obvious he enjoyed dancing with Hermione, oblivious to the amused looks others sent his way.

Harry looked at Ginny in apprehension. 'Do you want to…?' He gestured toward the dancers with the butterbeer.

'Absolutely!'

'I'm not very good at dancing,' Harry warned.

'Luckily for you, I am,' Ginny stated with a broad smile. 'And this is nothing like that formal rubbish we had to do at the Yule Ball. You just sort of move with the music.' She picked up the handbag and slid it into a pocket of her cloak. 'Come on.' She dragged Harry to the dance floor, near Ron and Hermione, and began to energetically gyrate to the pulsing beat of the music playing. The song abruptly changed to something with a slower tempo, much to Harry's relief. He wrapped his arms around Ginny, pulling her close.

'Thank Merlin,' he murmured. 'Something I can dance to…'

'People are looking at you,' Ginny said into his ear. 'Well. Women are.'

'You're mental,' Harry told her. 'They're looking at you.' He felt a sharp pinch on his bottom and stiffened. 'I don't mind if you do that,' he told Ginny. 'But do you have to do it in public?'

'Do what?' Ginny pulled away slightly so she could look at him.

'Pinch me.' Harry flapped a hand near his hip.

'I didn't pinch you.'

Harry's face clouded. 'Well, if you didn't, then who did?' he demanded.

Ginny glanced around the dance floor. 'Offhand, I'd say that woman over there.' She gestured with her chin toward a woman who appeared to be twice Harry's age. 'The one that looks like a cat licking cream off its whiskers.'

'Bloody hell,' Harry breathed.

'You don't see it at all, do you?' Ginny chuckled, amused.

'See what?' Harry asked, perplexed.

'You're not unfortunate looking,' Ginny said, tucking her head under his chin. 'For all the messy hair, which does happen to suit you, strangely enough, odd collection of scars… It's the eyes. They're beautiful.' Ginny blushed in the dim light. 'And you're completely unaware of how handsome you really are.'

'Oh, stop it,' Harry chided, feeling his cheeks burn. 'You ought to have your eyes examined…' Ginny felt him stiffen again and craned her head around Harry's shoulder, glaring beadily at the witch behind Harry.

'Do you mind?' Ginny asked menacingly.

Startled, Harry looked over his shoulder at a witch he vaguely remembered from school. She'd been a Hufflepuff prefect his first year. She smiled at Harry in what she clearly thought was a beguiling manner. He grimaced and maneuvered so that his back was in a corner. 'If you'll excuse us,' he said politely to the witch and buried his nose in Ginny's hair.

'D'you want to go?' Ginny asked.

'Not at all. I'm leaving on Monday as it is. And I won't get any odd looks for spending hours wrapped around you like this.'

Ron and Hermione swayed to the music, barely moving at all. 'Are you staying tonight?' Ron asked.

'I was thinking about it,' Hermione said.

'Maybe I can talk Harry into sleeping in Bill's room,' Ron mused. 'We could gang up on him.’.

'We could.'

'I could offer to make treacle tart for him,' Ron added.

'So we're reduced to using bribery now, eh?'

'No, not bribery,' Ron corrected. 'Incentives.'

'Fred would be so proud,' Hermione snorted. 'You've found new ways to make bribery sound like you're merely giving someone a gift.' She froze with a soft gasp. 'Oh… I'm sorry. That was thoughtless.'

Ron shook his head. 'You're right. He'd be thrilled.' His arm snaked around Hermione's waist. 'So, have you decided what to do for your Ancient Runes project?'

'I'm going to do the book.' Hermione grinned a little. 'And if Professor Babbling chooses my translation for publication, I'm going to remember I am of age and can tell Dumbledore if he won't keep Harry out of the commentary, then I refuse to allow it to be published.'

'Good for you,' Ron said. 'It's about time you figured out how to rebel every now and then.'

Hermione winced in pain. 'Ouch…'

Ron suddenly stopped, stricken. 'Oh, sorry… Bloody hell… Did I step on your toes?'

'No, no. That's the fifth time someone's pinched Harry's bottom.'

Ron turned his head and frowned. 'I wouldn't want to be the next witch that lays a hand on him. Ginny's likely to hex her, judging by the expression on her face.' He turned back to Hermione and brushed a lock of hair from her face. 'So what do you think you want to do after you're done with school?'

'Well, I haven't given up on S.P.E.W.,' she said. 'And if I join the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, I can start there,' Hermione blurted passionately. 'I can try to make werewolves classified as beings and make it so they can actually live in society. Be a liaison between humans and centaurs and goblins,' she added in a rush.

'You don't want much, do you?' Ron murmured.

'It's going to take years,' Hermione admitted.

The music changed into something more frenetic, but neither of them noticed. 'I was thinking that I might ask George if I can move into the flat sometime soon,' Ron said suddenly.

'With the way you do laundry?' Hermione snorted.

'At least we know I won't go hungry,' Ron said with a shrug. 'Who cares if my socks are pink? If I cock it up too many times, Mum'll just insist I bring it home.' He kissed her gently. 'I'm a big boy, hen. I can take care of myself.'

George sat next to Katie, nervously rolling a butterbeer bottle between his palms. 'Isn't…' He gulped painfully. 'Summerby… coming?'

'He's supposed to,' Katie huffed.

'What time was he to pick you up?'

'He was supposed to meet me here,' Katie said evenly, picking at the label of her butterbeer.

'How late is he?'

Katie sighed and glanced at her watch. 'Two hours…'

George's lips clamped shut before he could make a snide comment. He took a long pull of his drink and set the bottle down on the small table. 'Hasn't got any manners,' he grumbled. 'No consideration for you at all…'

Katie slammed her bottle down on the table. 'Why do you care so much?' she snapped.

'I don't,' George said shortly.

'Then why are you sitting here telling me how bad his manners are?'

George pinched a corner of the label on his bottle between his thumbnail and forefinger. 'Can you honestly tell me you're happy?' he asked in a low voice.

'That's none of your business,' Katie muttered.

'It is, too!' George protested. 'Since you tell me everything as it is.'

Katie sat still for so long; George began to think he had gone too far. When she finally spoke, George had to lean closer to hear her. 'I don't need you to take care of me,' she stated flatly.

George snorted with disbelief. 'Someone has to,' he said hotly. 'Since you're letting him walk all over you.'

'I'm not "letting" him do anything.' Katie took a swig of her butterbeer.

George began to twist in his chair looking exaggeratedly around the room. 'Is he here? Has he sent word that he'll be late or not coming at all? He's got you sitting here, cooling your heels,  _ waiting _ , because he knows he can!' George snarled accusingly.

'Why does it matter to you?' Katie retorted, her face inches from George's.

'Because I love you!' George shouted furiously into one of those sudden yawning silences that occur at parties when the music stopping coincides neatly with a lull in conversation.

At their table in the corner Ron leaned closer to Harry. 'Didn't see that one coming…' he muttered. 'Did you…?'

Harry shook his head. 'No…'

George's ear reddened as he realized the entire room had fallen silent, every eye focused on him and Katie. He slid out of his chair, and stumbled from the room. Katie stayed at the table keeping her eyes fixed on the bottle in her hands, until a buzz arose around her, signaling the others had resumed their conversations.

'Let's go after him,' Ginny whispered.

'Yeah…' Ron draped Hermione's cloak over her shoulders and began to laborious process to reach the door.

'He could be anywhere,' Hermione fretted. 'Especially if he's Apparated.'

'Check the shop first,' Harry advised. 'If he's not there…'

'Then we'll just go home,' Ginny finished.

* * *

As the private parlor began to empty of its guests, Katie pushed her chair back and wound her way toward the entrance to Diagon Alley. She tapped the bricks with her wand and slipped through the gap in the wall and slowly walked toward her flat. The entire evening had been something of a disaster. Martin never showed up. Katie would have dearly loved to have Angelina with her, but she had returned to Toronto last weekend. Katie missed Angelina terribly.  _ Especially when George is being a wanker _ , she thought sourly.  _ What on earth possessed him to shout that out like that in the pub? _

Katie tapped her wand on the door to her building and the door swung open slightly. She pushed the door open and began to trudge up the stairs to her flat. She just wanted to get out of the lovely, new dress she'd bought for the evening, put on her comfortable pajamas, and eat the large bar of Honeydukes chocolate her grandmother had sent for Christmas. The sight of George slumped on the floor next to her door made her stop in surprise. 'How long have you been here?'

George tilted his watch inward. 'Two hours,' he said hoarsely. He got to his feet, sliding up the wall. 'I came to apologize.'

'For what?' Katie asked tartly. 'For humiliating me in front of the entire pub, or for helping to ruin my evening?'

'Both,' George said quietly.

Katie exhaled heavily through her nose and opened the door of her flat. It almost closed before she yanked it open once more and glared at George. 'Are you coming in or what? The least I can do is give you some coffee or something before you go home.'

'Are you going to keep shouting at me?' George retorted. Katie shook her head, and held the door open wider. George hesitated for a moment, then edged past Katie into the flat. She closed the door with a lot less force than George had predicted and gestured toward the small sofa by the window.

'Have a seat. I'm just going to change out of this…'

'Why?' George was startled. 'You look great. Quite lovely, actually.' He could feel his ear begin to burn anew.

Katie looked down at the pale blue dress, shimmering in the light from the lamp next to the sofa. 'Well, it's not exactly made for lounging, is it?'

'I suppose not…' George's eyes darkened as his gaze slowly swept from the sparkly silver varnish on Katie's toes and dark red strappy heeled shoes to the upswept cascade of honey-colored curls on her head. 'God, what a wanker to have stood you up.' George could feel the raw, naked longing on his face, and for the first time, made no effort to hide it.

Katie kicked off the shoes and sank to the sofa next to George, tucking her feet under her. She reached up and tugged the pins from her hair, shaking the curls free, letting them tumble to her shoulders, feeling some of the tension dissipate. 'How long?' she asked without preamble, Summoning the chocolate bar from the kitchen table. She caught it deftly and peeled the wrapper back, offering the chocolate to George.

George's mouth opened and he tried to answer Katie several times before managing to choke out, 'A while.' He took a piece of chocolate to cover his clumsiness.

Katie broke a corner off the bar and began to nibble it. 'Define "a while".'

George felt his face erupt in flames. He was certain Katie could feel it. 'Right before I left school,' he admitted in a low voice. 'I came to see you every day when you were in the hospital.'

Katie blinked a few times. 'That was  _ you _ ?' she blurted.

'I thought you were unconscious,' George muttered.

'I was,' Katie insisted. 'But I could hear someone talking to me. I thought I was dreaming.'

George closed his eyes, painfully aware tears of embarrassment clung to his lashes. 'I read to you. I nicked a book of Muggle fairy tales Dad got for Ginny when she was five from her room at home. I read one every day until I finished the book. And one day, I was walking through Muggle London, and found this tiny, dusty book shop, manned by this old bird who knew more about literature and poetry than anyone ought to.' George swallowed hard and crammed the bit of chocolate into his mouth. 'She asked what I was looking for and I told her about you. And after several minutes of poking through the shelves and muttering to herself, she hands me this book of poetry by some Yank I've never heard of, even though there are enough books crammed into every nook and cranny of the Burrow to make a lending library.' He sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. 'After you'd recovered, I sent it to you for your birthday.'

Katie unfolded herself from the sofa and stumbled into her bedroom, reappearing a moment later with the slim volume, bound in dark blue leather. She cradled it between her hands, unconsciously stroking the soft leather with her thumbs. 'I wondered…' she began uncertainly. 'When I read some of this. It's very…' She paused searching for the right word. 'Sensual,' she finished. Katie took a step toward the sofa. 'Three years?' she asked incredulously. 'Why didn't you say something?'

George rubbed the right side of his head, fingers tracing the hole under his hair. 'I didn't know how to say it. I'm not very good with words. Fred was the one who could charm a bowtruckle from its tree. And I didn't think you could… feel…' He abruptly rose from the sofa and headed for the door. He twisted the doorknob, and pulled, but the door didn't budge. He twisted his head around and glared at Katie, who stood with her wand trained on the door. 'Katie, please…' he moaned painfully.

'Please, George,' Katie said softly. 'Stay.' She held the book out to him. 'Read for me…' she said pleadingly.

George reached out and took the book, thumbing through the pages, aware of the harsh sound of his own breathing. He came to a poem he'd read to Katie when she was unconscious. He'd read it so often, he had memorized it and without looking at the page, he began to recite, 'To the garden the world anew ascending, /Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding, /The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being, /Curious here behold my resurrection after slumber,/The revolving cycles in their wide sweep having brought me again, /Amorous, mature, all beautiful to me, all wondrous, /My limbs and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for /reasons, most wondrous, /Existing I peer and penetrate still,/Content with the present, content with the past, /By my side or back of me Eve following, /Or in front, and I following her just the same.'

Unable to help himself, George closed the space between them and cupped Katie's face in his free hand. 'I want to stay,' he breathed. 'God help me, I want to stay so badly, but I can't…' His hand dropped away from Katie. 'Not while  _ he's _ still around,' he said nearly inaudibly. He turned on his heel, and twisted the doorknob, almost relieved when it opened under his hand. He all but ran down the stairs and burst into the street, Apparating to the Burrow, unaware he still held Katie's book in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katie's book of poetry is Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. The poem he reads to Katie is, 'To the Garden the World'.


	36. Through a Glass Darkly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry spat repeatedly on the ground, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'Geroff,' he grunted, staring at none other than Pansy Parkinson. 'You!' he blurted. 'You tried to sell me out to Voldemort! What are you playing at?'
> 
> Pansy swayed drunkenly, reaching out to grab Harry's sleeve to steady herself. 'Let's let bygones be bygones, shall we…?' She took another step toward Harry, but the tip of a wand at the base of her throat arrested her movements.
> 
> 'Touch him again, and you'll wish you hadn't,' Ginny said calmly.

If at all possible, the pub had gotten even more crowded in the few hours they had been upstairs. 'How are we going to get through all that?' Ron wondered.

Hermione peered around Ron's shoulder, gazing over the Leaky Cauldron. 'We're closer to the Diagon Alley entrance,' she pointed out. 'We could go the shop until things clear up a bit,' she suggested.

'I think there's some butterbeers in the kitchen of the flat,' Ginny added. 'At least there were when Percy and I came to pack up the twins' things that were still there.'

'George keeps biscuits and tea in the backroom,' Ron said.

'And we've hardly touched what's in the handbag,' Hermione reminded them.

'Brilliant,' Harry breathed. 'Let's go.'

Clasping each other's hands, they wormed through the crowd to the back door, and Harry tapped the bricks with his wand. They burst through the opening in the wall, each of them sighing with relief. It was almost just as crowded in the street, making Apparition dangerous. A slim, dark woman flung her arms around Harry, kissing him full on the mouth. His eyes widened with surprise, and his hands wrapped around her upper arms and Harry forcibly pushed the woman away from him. 'Ah, come on, then, Harry… Why don't we bring in the new year together?'

Harry spat repeatedly on the ground, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'Geroff,' he grunted, staring at none other than Pansy Parkinson. 'You!' he blurted. 'You tried to sell me out to Voldemort! What are you playing at?'

Pansy swayed drunkenly, reaching out to grab Harry's sleeve to steady herself. 'Let's let bygones be bygones, shall we…?' She took another step toward Harry, but the tip of a wand at the base of her throat arrested her movements.

'Touch him again, and you'll wish you hadn't,' Ginny said calmly.

'Ginny…' Ron started to tug her arm down, but she shook him off.

'Bugger off, Ron,' Ginny said quietly.

Pansy chuckled tipsily. 'And what do you think you're going to do, little girl?'

Ginny smiled widely, and without saying a word, slashed her wand through the air. Boils erupted all over Pansy's face. 'Thought I'd do that,' she said in satisfaction. 'Of course, I could also do this.' The wand jabbed toward Pansy's nose and giant, sticky, flapping bogies attached themselves to Pansy's face. 'Happy new year,' she said with sickening sweetness. Ginny flounced off in the direction of the shop.

'Did you have to hex her twice?' Ron said incredulously.

Ginny spun around. 'How would you feel if other blokes kept putting their hands all over Hermione, then one of them had the gall to try and snog her –  _ in front of you!?' _

'Oh, well, yeah…'

'And it was  _ Pansy! _ Merlin's bollocks, Ron! She was only the biggest slag at school! If Malfoy thought he was the only one shagging her, he was wrong. Ought to start checking that his willy doesn't fall off because she's given him some nasty disease.'

'That was brilliant!' Harry said delightedly, slinging an arm around Ginny's waist. He bent to kiss Ginny, but she held up a hand between their faces.

'Not until you've brushed your teeth…'

'Right.'

'Let's get inside. It's cold out here,' Ron complained. He opened the door of the shop and held it open. The other three trooped inside, shaking snow from their cloaks and hair.

'When do you think you're going to try moving in here?' Hermione asked.

'You're moving?' Harry blurted, feeling more than a bit hurt.

Ron sighed heavily. 'You know, Hermione, I hadn't said anything to anyone else yet…' He went into the back room, and rummaged in a cupboard. 'Go on up. I'll just fetch the tea and biscuits,' he mumbled.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Harry fought to keep the plaintive note from his voice.

Ron emerged from the cupboard with a dusty teakettle, a tin of tea, and a chipped pot. 'Grab the cups in there, would you?' Harry reached into the cupboard and pulled out four mismatched mugs. 'It just occurred to me before Christmas,' he told Harry. 'I thought it would be much easier to just live here. I haven't asked George yet if I can live upstairs yet. I haven't even talked to Mum and Dad about it.'

'You think they'd make a fuss?'

Ron set the tea things on the scarred table and ran a hand through his hair. 'I don't think Mum and Dad will. Well, Mum might, at first, but Dad'll talk her down. I just don't think George will be chuffed about letting me live there.'

'Does it have to be here?'

'Well, no,' Ron admitted. 'It's just convenient, innit? I thought I was going to Splinch myself Christmas Eve, I was so tired. But it's a waste of a decent flat to leave it empty. I mean, I miss Fred as much as nearly everybody, but I can't see the point in keeping the flat vacant like it is.'

'And if George says no?'

Ron shrugged and grabbed the teakettle, and began to head up the stairs. 'Then I'll find something else.'

Harry followed him, the mugs dangling from his fingers. 'Hey, Ron?'

'Yeah?'

'My next assignment, it might be dangerous.'

Ron smirked. 'Aren't they all?'

Harry sat down on a riser midway up the stairs. 'This one's different. It's in a Muggle area of Belfast and there've been some rather violent protests there.'

'Okay…'

'So we won't be able to use as much magic to protect ourselves, unless we have to.'

'Obviously.'

'I haven't said anything, because I didn't want your mum and dad to worry, but they're listed on my paperwork… in case I get hurt or…'

'Or…?’ Ron slowly exhaled, and he joined Harry on the riser. ‘Oh…'

'You're all on the list of people allowed to visit at St Mungo's, though,' Harry added in forced cheeriness.

'That's comforting,' Ron snorted.

'I'll do my best not to end up there.'

Ron stood up, his back sliding up the wall. 'I'll believe that when I see it. How many times did you end up in the hospital wing in school?'

'Erm….' Harry self-consciously ruffled his hair. 'Enough times to cover four pages for my medical history in my Ministry file.'

'Bloody hell.'

Harry pushed himself to his feet. 'Yeah. I had a cramp in my hand after I finished filling it out.'

Ron continued up the stairs. 'You know, there's room for two in here. You can come with me.'

'I'll think about it.'

Ginny looked up from the battered sofa where she lounged with her feet propped up on the coffee table. 'Think about what?'

'Staying here with Ron.'

Ginny stared at Harry as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra head. 'And I used to think you were somewhat sane…'

'You've lived with him almost all your life,' Harry told her.

'Yes, but that's involuntary.'

Ron threw a small pillow at them. 'I'm right here!'

Ginny dodged the pillow and tossed it back to Ron. 'You know I love you, git.'

'I can feel the love in the room,' Hermione said dryly from the corner, where she fiddled with an old wireless, idly scrolling from station to station until she came to something she deemed suitable. She dropped her cloak over the back of a chair and began to unpack her handbag. She waved her wand in the air and a toothbrush floated in front of Harry. 'I believe you have something you need to do.'

Harry grabbed the toothbrush and looked at her expectantly. 'Toothpaste?'

'Do I need to do everything?' Hermione asked archly.

'Yes,' Ron and Harry said at the same time.

Hermione pursed her lips in a disapproving frown, but flicked her wand in Harry's direction, making a small tube of toothpaste appear. 'Happy now?'

'I know I am,' Ginny murmured.

'Glad I could help,' Harry muttered. He strode into the small bathroom, and proceeded to scrub his teeth, making sure he brushed each and every crevice. When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Ginny was sitting on one of the windowsills, gazing at the scene in the street below. 'Where're Ron and Hermione?'

'They went up to the roof right after you left to brush your teeth. Took the wireless with them, too.'

Harry dropped the toothbrush to the table and walked to the window. 'Fancy giving that dancing thing another try? Might be better without all those women molesting me.'

'I'd love to…'

A tune played in the recesses of Harry's memory, one he remembered hearing on the wireless through the cupboard under the stairs as a child. He began to hum it softly, as his arms wrapped around Ginny's waist. 'Are you really thinking of moving out of the Burrow?' Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. 'Not that I don't appreciate everything your mum and dad have done, but it's time for me to find my own place.'

Ginny's head tipped back so she could examine Harry's face. 'Really?'

Harry took a deep breath, surprised to find the idea of going out on his own didn't envelop him with choking fear anymore. And he knew he'd always be welcome at the Burrow. 'Really.'

'Are you thinking about…?' Ginny bit her lip, cheeks flaming. 'Never mind.'

'Grimmauld Place?' Harry guessed. Ginny nodded, her eyes fixed on Harry's loosened tie. 'I really don't know,' he confessed. 'I can't live there. Well, I suppose I  _ can _ , but I don't really want to. That house is…' Harry hesitated. 'Evil,' he finished. 'It's poisonous. You could clean it until it's damn near sterile, but it'll still be there. No wonder Sirius nearly went mad. I didn't really want the house to begin with, anyway. I can't sell it. The more I try to think about what to do with it, the more dead ends I hit.' He sighed and laced his fingers through Ginny's. 'I don't have to do anything about it now, I suppose.'

'What time are you leaving on Monday?'

'Early. Before six.'

'Oh…' Ginny's arms tightened around his waist and she rested her head against his shoulder. 'Is it dangerous, this assignment?'

'It shouldn't be,' Harry assured her, feeling a twinge of guilt. 'It's just observation.'

'When will you be back?'

'I don't know. I mean, I'll be back for the Malfoys' trials, but after that, I'll have to return to…' He hesitated.

'You can't tell me, can you?'

Harry shook his head. 'No.'

'Can you tell me what you're doing?'

'A little… Not all the Death Eaters were captured after the battle. And we think they might be behind some incidents going on. And if not involved directly, then stirring things up.' He gently touched the side of Ginny's face. 'I'll come tell you goodbye before I leave, all right?'

'All right…'

* * *

'Ron?'

'Hmmm?'

'If Harry lives here, where I am going to sleep?'

'You'd want to live here?' Ron asked in surprise, nearly dropping his wand as he completed the last Warming charm on the roof. 'B-b-b-but it's small and sort of dark…'

'Well, I wouldn't want to raise a family here,' Hermione said matter-of-factly.

'Family?' Ron said faintly. True, he had thought about it, but as an abstract concept – a possibility – many, many years into the future.

In the dim light, Hermione could see his freckles stand out starkly against his skin. She fought to keep from laughing outright. She settled in a battered chair and popped a grape into her mouth. 'Mmm-hmmm. I thought we might outdo your parents and have eight.' Ron's only reply was a strangled gurgle. 'Maybe they'll all be girls, since that famous Weasley boys-only curse seems to have been broken with Ginny.'

'Girls…' Ron echoed hollowly, wheezing.

Hermione threw a grape at him, hitting him squarely on the forehead. 'Oh, honestly, Ronald!' she laughed. 'I'm not even finished with school yet and the last thing I want is eight children.' She leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. 'But one day it might be nice to have some.'

'How many sprogs do you want?' Ron couldn't keep the fear out of his voice.

'More than one, less than eight.'

'That narrows it down a bit,' Ron muttered, picking up a sandwich.

'I hated being an only child,' Hermione said. 'Didn't get on with other children at school until Hogwarts, and the only people I had to play with were my parents…'

'Well, we don't have to make any decisions about that sort of thing now, do we?'

'No, we don't.'

* * *

Molly set a cup of tea in front of George, who sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. 'Knut for your thoughts, dear?'

George blinked, gazing bemusedly at the cup in front of him. 'I did something stupid last night…' he began.

Molly settled into the chair next to his and delicately sniffed the air around him. 'You don't seem like you drank too much.'

'Oh, if only I had…'

Molly picked up George's hand and shoved the sleeve of his shirt back. 'You didn't go and get one of those Muggle tattoos, did you?'

'No, but that would have been less barmy than what I did.' George's head fell to the table and he proceeded to bang his head against the table repeatedly. 'You know Katie?'

'Yes. She's a lovely girl.'

'Right. Well, at the party last night, I told her I'm in love with her…'

'Well, that's not so bad,' Molly said soothingly.

'Oh, it gets worse,' George muttered. 'You know how when a bunch of people are together and they're all talking, then all of a sudden-like, it gets really quiet?'

'Yes…'

'That's when it happened.'

'Oh my. I suppose that would be a bit embarrassing.'

'It was.' George looked at his cup of tea as if he'd never seen one before. 'I told her everything… How I used to visit her every day when she was ill…' He began to laugh, a hysterical edge to his guffaws. 'I don't know what to do now… I mean when I'm with her, I'm happy, and I'm not really happy anywhere else…'

'Does she feel the same way about you?'

George sighed and let his head fall back to the table. 'I think so. I don't know,' he said miserably. 'And I'm almost afraid to find out…'

* * *

Katie crawled on the floor of the small sitting room of her flat, searching under the sofa and bookcase, in the corners. She couldn't remember what George had done with her book. She had spent most of the morning looking for it to no avail. 'Maybe he walked out with it…' she muttered, wincing at the sizable dust bunnies under the sofa. She sat back on her heels, and picked up a large mug that was now half-filled with cold tea. The loud knock on her door made her slosh tea down the front of her Kenmare t-shirt. Katie lurched to her feet and scrambled for the door, yanking it open. 'Geo…' She could feel the smile on her face fade. 'Oh, it's you.' Katie stepped back, pulling the edges of her dressing gown over the tea stains on her shirt.

'Good morning to you, too,' Martin said dryly, sauntering into the flat.

Katie's jaw clenched and she refrained from slamming the door shut. 'Haven't you forgotten something?' she asked coldly, carrying her mug into the kitchen, and dumping the cold tea down the sink.

'Oh, sorry.' Martin gave her a loud, smacking kiss. 'There. All better?'

Katie tapped her teakettle with her wand and steam rose from the spout. 'No. It's not all better,' she spat, pouring hot water over the tea leaves in the tea pot.

'What's wrong with you?' Martin asked, peering at Katie. 'You go out on a bender last night?'

'No, I did not go out on a bender last night. I went to Lee Jordan's party. Remember? You were supposed to be there,' she said.

'I went somewhere else,' Martin said with a shrug.

'And you couldn't be bothered to let me know?' Katie asked, incredulous.

'Oh, for Merlin's sake, Katie, it's not like we're in a serious relationship,' Martin scoffed.

Katie stopped pouring tea into her mug, and gently set the tea pot down on the counter. 'You know, Martin, you're right. We're hardly even friends. But still, even acquaintances treat each other with the common decency you'd show a dog. You should have let me know you weren't coming. You made me look like a fool.'

'Oh, right. I was looking forward to spending an evening in the company of Weasley,' Martin said sarcastically. 'Surly git, that one…'

Katie suddenly began to laugh. She had seen this moment coming for ages; she just hadn't wanted to admit it. Martin might not have been the brightest bloke, but he was decent company, and Katie hated being alone. But she couldn't deny it any longer. 'Right. I'm done.'

Martin frowned. 'What?'

'It was nice while it lasted, but really Martin, we barely have anything in common. It's best if we just don't see each other like this anymore…' Katie gestured toward the door. Martin blinked. Once. He turned and left the flat, slamming the door so hard, it rattled on its hinges. Katie picked up her mug with a sigh of relief, feeling as if she had dodged a particularly nasty hex. It could have gone so much worse than it had.

* * *

Harry lay staring at the fuzzy shadows on the ceiling. He reached for his watch and brought it close to his nose, squinting a little to bring its face into a semblance of focus. It wasn't yet five in the morning, but he had been awake for some time. Sighing, he threw the bedding back and began to dress in the dark, adroitly avoiding Teddy's cot. He'd slept in Bill's room so he wouldn't disturb Ron. He tiptoed up the stairs, feeling the cold seep through his thick socks, to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He crept back down to the first floor and grabbed his boots, intending to put them on once he got into the kitchen. Harry hesitated outside Ginny's bedroom door. He had promised to tell her goodbye before he left but it was so early. Nonetheless, he carefully twisted the doorknob. Ginny was awake, sitting up in bed, staring at the cover of a much-abused novel. 'What are you doing up?' he whispered.

Ginny's head ducked a little. 'Couldn't sleep.' She set the book down and laced her fingers together.

Harry sat on the edge of her bed and shoved his feet into his boots, tying the laces. 'Have you slept at all?'

She shook her head. 'Not really. You?'

Harry's mouth tipped upward in an ironic smile. 'Not very much.' He cupped the back of Ginny's head in one hand and kissed her. 'I'll be back before you know it. If something goes wrong, your mum and dad will know, but nothing ought to go wrong,' he said quickly. 'I'll owl you as soon as I can when I'm back.' He started to slide off the bed, but Ginny lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

'Don't do anything stupid,' she said softly. 'Because if something goes horribly wrong, and you die, I will kill you, all right?'

'I'll try my best.'

Ginny laughed shakily, sitting back a bit. 'I'll hold you to that.' She kissed him with a thoroughness that left him dizzy. 'Be careful…'

Harry nodded, then slid off the bed, squeezing Ginny's hand. He strode out of the bedroom, without looking back, and went into the scullery to collect the knapsack he'd left there the night before, and left the house, Disapparating before the garden gate closed behind him.

* * *

George closed the door and tapped the sign in its window with his wand so it read "Closed". He'd sent Ron home once the shop had been tidied for the day and pulled out the notes he'd made from his failed attempts to create new products over the past several weeks, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. 'I ought to have paid more attention in Potions,' he grumbled to the quiet, empty shop. The door slammed open and Summerby stood in the open doorway, his normally pleasantly bland face set into mutinous lines. George stared at him for a moment, then said mildly, 'We're closed.'

'You won,' Summerby said shortly.

'I won what?' George asked, confused.

'And people say I'm thick.' With that Summerby turned and left, leaving the door swaying in the cold wind.

George stared thoughtfully after him, then jabbed his wand at the door, closing it once more.

* * *

Harry sat at a table in a nondescript flat in Belfast, poring over copies of documents from other Aurors and the Muggle authorities. He's been absentmindedly running his hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray, the fringe sticking up. Emma Greene, the lone female Auror on this assignment, gazed at Harry for a moment. 'Have you ever thought of using Transfiguration to hide…?' she asked, gesturing toward her forehead.

Startled, Harry used the palm of one hand to flatten his fringe back over the scar. 'Not especially,' he muttered.

'Ignore her, lad,' Peter advised. 'Emma and the concept of personal space aren't more than nodding acquaintances.' Harry shrugged, and returned to his perusal of a report.

'You ought to,' Avery blurted. 'Makes you stick out.'

Harry sighed and set the report down. 'Why should I?' he asked levelly, feeling his pulse jump at the base of his throat.

'So you don't jeopardize the case.'

Harry began to grind his teeth together. 'You can't completely change the way you look with Transfiguration.'

'Yes, you can.'

'You can't,' Harry corrected coldly. 'Even Animagi can't do that. Professor McGonagall's Animagus form always has markings around the eyes that look like her glasses. My godfather's Animagus form had eyes that were the same color as his.' Harry snorted with mirthless laughter. 'Even Rita-bloody-Skeeter's form has markings like those damn glasses she wears.'

'That's just Animagi,' Avery countered.

'No, it's not,' Harry retorted. Peter and Emma watched silently, their heads turning from side to side like spectators at a tennis match. 'My friend Hermione, she's almost as good as McGonagall at Transfiguration. But even she can't make certain things about her appearance change. She can make her hair longer, shorter, change the color. But it's always frizzy. I can't change my eye color. No matter what we did last year, how old she tried to make me look, they were always like this,' Harry growled, pointing to his eyes. 'My mate from school, Seamus, always had freckles, just over his nose, and even McGonagall said they would always be there, no matter what he did.'

Avery's lips pressed together in a thin line visibly put out at being proved wrong by Harry. He snatched a file from the table and flung it open.

'Your friend Hermione sounds like she'd make a good Auror,' Emma said lightly.

'No, she wouldn't,' Harry said. 'Her spell work is dead-on, but she doesn't make split-second decisions very well.'

'That's a bit harsh,' Emma objected.

'No, it's the truth,' Harry said bluntly. 'And if you asked Hermione, she'd probably say the same thing. Hermione's brilliant, but that doesn't mean she's going to make the best decision for the situation on a moment's notice.'

'I thought you were friends,' Avery muttered snidely.

'We are.' Harry resumed his perusal of the report in his hands. 'And she'll be the first one to tell you I'm impetuous and too emotional, and I have a tendency to fixate on certain people or ideas. That I'm too stubborn.' Harry scribbled a few notes in his notebook, and replaced the file on the table. 'I won't do anything to jeopardize the assignment,' he said quietly.

'It's time for dinner, anyway,' Peter pronounced. 'Last time you'll get a regular meal for a while.'

Without being asked, Harry flicked his wand at a cupboard, and potatoes began to scrub themselves, and a peeler flew from a drawer to peel carrots. He smirked at Avery. 'I  _ can _ cook, you know. I'm not just a pretty face,' he said sarcastically.

Emma pulled a stack of plates from the cupboard. 'I'm sorry…' she said softly. 'I didn't mean to start something…'

'Don't worry about it,' Harry told her. 'Just another day on the job.'

* * *

Harry leaned against a wall, listening to a speaker at a rally. The politics, the finger-pointing made his stomach turn. It reminded him uncomfortably of what he'd lived through for almost half his life. He tugged the dark blue cap lower over his forehead, making sure his hair and the scar were securely under it. He scanned the crowd, searching for one of the Death Eaters that hadn't been captured.  _ Avery… Urquhart… Flint… Mulciber… _ he said to himself. Those were the only ones left. The others had been captured and were either under house arrest, like Draco and Lucius Malfoy, or in Azkaban, like Miles Nott.

He let the words slide through his ears. They weren't important. Not right now. He needed to find out if _they_ were involved. Harry began to circle around the crowd, eyes darting over the assembled men and women. While he didn't think Avery, Urquhart, Flint, or Mulciber was using Polyjuice, he couldn't rule it out. Nor could he rule out that they might have Transfigured something about their appearance – their hair, their nose. Harry had spent hours studying their photographs, trying to figure out what feature wouldn't change. _McGonagall always said it would be something on their face_ , he reminded himself, eyes narrowing. _Does that person have Mulciber's eyes?_ _Or his ears, maybe?_ The crowd shifted and Harry stifled a gasp of horror. He reached out and grabbed the boy standing in front of him, dragging him to an alley, in spite of his rather vocal protests.

'What d'ye think ye're doin'?' he yelled.

Harry furiously tightened his grip around Seamus' arm, unable to speak. He Apparated them both to the alley behind the building where he was staying in Belfast, towing Seamus through the door and into the flat, throwing him against the wall. 'What am I thinking? What are you thinking?' he snarled, shoving Seamus roughly into a chair. 'My God, Seamus, didn't you get enough of that kind of shite last year?'


	37. A Time to Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry trudged down the walk, heading toward one of the pubs on his list. Avery had a separate list of English pubs, while Harry, after living with Seamus for six years, could do a passable approximation of his Irish lilt, and was much less obvious in the pubs the Irish frequented. He was a block away when a silver rooster dropped at his feet. 'What the…?'
> 
> 'Harry, get out of there!' it hissed in Avery's voice. 'Get out of there –'
> 
> The rest of Avery's message was lost in as an explosion blew out the window of the pub. Harry instinctively threw an arm over his face, as he was thrown back several feet, rubble raining over his unconscious body.

_ Harry furiously tightened his grip around Seamus' arm, unable to speak. He Apparated them both to the alley behind the building where he was staying in Belfast, towing Seamus through the door and into the flat, throwing him against the wall. 'What am I thinking? What are you thinking?' he snarled, shoving Seamus roughly into a chair. 'My God, Seamus, didn't you get enough of that kind of shite last year?' _

* * *

'What does it matter to you?' Seamus shot back. 'It's got nothing to do with magic!'

'And how do you know?' Harry yelled, rage simmering so close to the surface, he fancied he could feel heat radiating off his skin. 'How do you know there aren't Dark wizards stirring things up?'

'And how d'ye know there are?' Seamus retorted angrily.

'I don't,' Harry huffed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 'But you shouldn't be there.'

'Ye're not me mam,' Seamus countered. 'Ye can't tell me what t'do!'

Harry exhaled strongly through his nose. 'Seamus,' he began, 'have you  _ listened _ to what they're saying?'

'They want the English out of Ireland,' Seamus said with a shrug.

'The same way  _ they _ wanted Muggle-borns out of the community?' Harry hissed. 'Or what about witches and wizards that married Muggles?'

'It's different,' Seamus insisted.

'Yeah? Then tell me how.'

Seamus sat in the chair, his lips pressed together.

'It's not so different, is it?' Harry asked softly. 'I heard that bloke talking today. He said, "any means necessary," didn't he? I know you live here, Seamus and you can't be totally ignorant of what's happened.'

Seamus looked away from Harry's penetrating gaze. His jaw clenched and the tendons of his neck stood out stiffly from the strain. 'Ye know what's different?' he asked in a low voice. 'I can fight this time.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I was alone the entire year!' Seamus shouted. 'You, Ron, and Dean didn't come back and Neville was too busy playin' the hero!' He pulled his wand from his pocket and began Banishing random items across the room, shattering several small ornaments. Harry stood quietly, not interfering, nor saying anything, waiting patiently until Seamus's arm dropped, and the room filled with the sounds of his harsh panting. 'They were everywhere,' he said tonelessly. 'Corridors, classrooms. No matter how hard I tried to stay with the others, one of the Slytherin students would put a Silencing charm on me, Petrify me, and…' he choked.

'And what?'

Seamus shook his head violently.

Harry stared at Seamus, remembering how Seamus had been beaten beyond recognition when he'd seen him in the Room of Requirement before the battle started. Seamus squirmed under Harry's scrutiny, unable to meet his eyes. 'Did they just beat you up?'

Seamus flushed, then immediately paled, leaving his face mottled and splotchy. He darted from the chair and lunged for the door, tugging on it, but it refused to budge. 'Why won't it open?' he breathed, anguish making his voice tight.

'It's charmed,' Harry said flatly. 'You can't open it from either side unless one of the other Aurors here or I touch it.' He walked to Seamus and laid a hand on the other boy's trembling shoulder. To his surprise, Seamus cried out, then whirled on him, punching Harry soundly in the jaw.

'Don't touch me!'

Harry staggered a few steps, rubbing the aching area of his face. 'What happened to you?'

'Let me out,' Seamus pleaded, turning back to the door, his arms wrapped around himself. 'Please…'

Harry sidled around Seamus, giving him a wide berth, making sure Seamus could see him, eyeing him warily. 'I'm going to touch the door now,' Harry told him softly. 'All right?' Seamus nodded, keeping his on the polished wooden floor under their feet. Harry reached for the doorknob, and as his fingers brushed over the brass handle, a soft  _ click _ reverberated through the room. Seamus yanked on the door and darted through the opening, his footsteps soon fading on the stairs.

Harry pulled the cap off, running his hand through his hair. It crackled with static from the wool of the cap. He dropped the cap into the chair Seamus had vacated and dumped his coat on top of it, then trudged into the kitchen, tapping the teakettle with his wand. He was sitting at the table, with a cup of tea cradled between his hands when Peter walked into the kitchen. 'I take it you knew him?'

'Who?' Harry asked dully.

'The person you brought back with you.'

Harry glanced up sharply at his supervisor. 'You heard?'

'I wasn't trying to eavesdrop,' Peter said apologetically, pouring himself a cup of tea. 'The two of you were pretty loud.'

Harry's shoulders hunched. 'Sorry.'

'It's all right.' Peter stirred milk into his tea, and took a sip. 'How'd you know him…? Seamus?'

'Same year at school. Same house, too.' Harry gingerly touched the spot on his jaw where Seamus had punched him. 'Didn't know he had a wicked right hook…'

'Looks like it's going to leave a nasty bruise,' Peter commented. 'Here, let me…' He pulled out his wand and gestured toward Harry's face.

'No, it's fine. Thanks.'

Peter shrugged and put his wand away. 'All right.' He studied Harry for a moment, then picked up his cup. 'Assault isn't about inflicting pain,' he said nonchalantly. Harry's eyes flicked to Peter, then back to the surface of his tea. 'It's about power. It doesn't matter how they go about it.'

'What do you mean?'

'You really are pretty naïve about some things, aren't you?' Peter said, softening his words with a small smile.

'Erm…' Harry shrugged helplessly.

Peter gave Harry a hard look. 'Women aren't the only rape victims,' he said bluntly.

Harry's shook his head slowly. 'Not Seamus,' he said.

'Maybe not,' Peter allowed. 'But it's a possibility.' He allowed Harry to digest that bit of information, then smoothly changed the subject. 'See anything at that rally?'

'No. It was breaking up when I grabbed Seamus.'

'Hm.' Peter pulled a manky scrap of parchment from his pocket, and shoved it across the table. 'There's a list of known pubs where they're known to gather.'

Harry drained his tea and tucked the parchment in his pocket. 'Right.'

'Charm your glass, then,' Peter cautioned. 'You won't be any use to us if you're so pissed you can't find your arse with both hands and Four-Point spell.'

'Yeah.' Harry's face set into pensive lines and he strode into the sitting room for his coat and cap.

Peter trailed after him, watching Harry carefully pull the cap over his hair and forehead once more. 'Harry, about your mate…?' Harry shoved his arms into the sleeves of his coat and didn't say anything, but looked at Peter expectantly. 'Don't give up on him, eh? Don't pressure him, but don't give up on him, either.'

Harry nodded in acknowledgement and slipped out of the door.

* * *

George stood outside Katie's door, and raised his hand to knock on the door, but checked the movement and gave his jumper a cautious sniff. He hadn't bothered to go home after closing the shop, and it bore the signs of work in the back room. Before he could actually knock, the door behind him creaked open. 'She's not home.'

George turned around to see the wizard that lived in the flat next to Katie's. 'What do you do?' he asked idly. 'Keep tabs on her?'

The wizard chuckled wheezily. 'No. Just an eye.' He leaned against the door frame and gave George a long look. 'Stays late most Thursday nights at that mag of hers to help with the layout.'

'Oh.' George's face fell slightly. 'Do you know when she'll be home?' he asked hopefully.

'Not 'til late, lad.' The wizard gave George another long, appraising look. 'The office is in that small building between Eeylops and the cauldron shop,' he hinted. 'The top floor.' George gaped at him and the wizard snorted in derision. 'And if you can't read between those lines, lad, you're thicker than that bloke she just threw over.'

George began to clatter down the stairs. He stopped on the next landing. 'Thanks!' he called up the stairs, then continued down to the ground floor, hitting the door at a run. He pelted down Diagon Alley until he came to a small, nondescript building, almost lost between the bright cauldron shop and the novelty of Eeylops. He pushed the heavy door open and climbed the dark, narrow stairs to a set of stuffy, dingy rooms. Most were dark and empty, but a few had dim light seeping into the corridor. George crept down the corridor, peering into the rooms.

'Can I help you?' a middle-aged witch reminiscent of Molly asked tiredly.

'I'm looking for Katie…'

'Is Katie still here?' the witch asked the other person in the room.

'Yeah. Helping set up the features section.'

'Second door on the right,' the witch told George.

'Thank you,' George said, and quickly found the room where Katie sat on a spindly stool frowning at a collection of photographs and drawings. 'Hi,' he said breathlessly.

Katie jumped, scattering photographs on the floor. 'George! What are you doing here?'

'I was wondering if you might be hungry,' he said lamely.

'I can't…' Katie said, stooping to pick up the photographs.

'Right, well you look like you're busy. You got plans for tomorrow night?'

She shook her head. 'Not really, but…'

'Brilliant! I'll pick you up at seven?'

Katie sighed and flicked her wand at the door, closing it. This wasn't the place she wanted to have this conversation, but she felt anything else would be dishonest. 'No.' She set the photographs back on the table and laid her shaking hands over them. 'George, I really like you,' she began. 'And I would like nothing more than to go have dinner with you and anything else you've got in mind.'

'Okay,' George blurted, perplexed.

'But I can't do it,' Katie said painfully. 'I just can't…'

George gasped shallowly for air, feeling as if Katie had punched him in the solar plexus. 'Why?'

Katie's head bowed until her hair fell forward, hiding her face. 'I just can't…'

'But I thought…' George's mouth was dry, making it impossible for him to speak. 'I thought you…'

'I do,' Katie said quickly. She pressed her lips together. 'It's just that three people in a relationship are a bit much,' she confessed softly. 'I'm sorry,' she added, her voice breaking. She waited uneasily for George's response, but the only sound she heard was of the door quietly, almost soundlessly opening and closing.

* * *

Ginny sat in Defense, chewing her lip, not paying attention to anything being said around her. Carter's classes were usually interesting, filled with lively discussions about when and how to use certain spells, and when something crossed the lines of defense and moved into offensive magic, but she ignored everything around her in favor of her homework planner. She had been crossing off days instead of taking notes. The tip of her quill tapped in each square as she counted the days with a heavy line crossing it off.  _ Eleven days… _ she said to herself. She had a long letter to Harry in her bedside table that she'd written in her usual habit of adding a bit to it every day, but it was now twice as long as a normal letter.

'Miss Weasley?' Carter said. 'Miss Weasley?' he repeated a bit louder.

Luna elbowed Ginny in the ribs, making Ginny drop her quill. 'What?' she said stupidly.

'I was askin' if there's ever a reason to use one of the nastier hexes, jinxes, or curses that cause lots of mayhem and damage,' Carter told her. He glanced at the hourglass on his desk and sighed. 'But that's it for today, ladies and gentlemen. Homework for the weekend: twenty-four inches of parchment on the ethics of usin' questionable spells. Due at the beginnin' of class on Tuesday.' The students began to shove their things into their bags and filed out of the room chattering and complaining about the amount of homework they had for the coming weekend. 'Miss Weasley, could you stay behind for a moment, please?'

Ginny, who had half-risen from her seat, slowly sat back down. 'I'll save you a place at dinner,' Hermione murmured, before sliding from the desk and following Luna and Hannah from the room.

Carter jabbed his wand at the door, closing it, but as he turned back to Ginny, he self-consciously flicked his wand at the door, opening it halfway. 'What's goin' on, Ginny?' he asked.

'Nothing,' Ginny said evenly, toying with her quill.

'Nice try,' Carter snorted. 'Let's try this again, okay? What's goin' on?' he repeated patiently. 'You always participate, you always have somethin' germane to add to the discussion in class, and you do happen to have a lot of practical experience with this stuff, but since classes started on Monday, you've been distracted and haven't paid attention to anythin' goin' on around you.' He perched on the edge of the desk in front of Ginny, his arms crossed over his chest. 'I know you're plannin' on playin' Quidditch professionally, but what if somethin' happens to you and you can't play any more, hmmm?' He reached out and pulled the abused quill from Ginny's hands.

Ginny sighed and spread her hands flat over the surface of the desk. 'It's silly,' she muttered.

'Must not be so silly if you're this worked up about it.'

'You remember Harry?'

'Yeah.'

'He's out…' Ginny waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the window. 'I can't write to him, and he can't write to me, and every morning, I snatch Hermione's paper away from her to see if there are any stories about his team in…' Ginny mouth tightened. 'I don't even know where they are.' She shrugged. 'He  _ said _ it wasn't dangerous, but he's got a funny notion of what the word "danger" means.'

'I see.' Carter slid off the desk and into the chair, folding his arms over the back of the chair. 'I gave up being an Auror because my wife worried so much about me.'

Ginny stole a glance at his left hand, but it was bare. 'You're married?'

'No,' Carter replied quietly. 'But that's beside the point. I know you're young, but if you're goin' to go into this for the long haul, whether you marry him or not in the end, you can't live like you've been doin' for… How long has he been gone?'

'Eleven days.'

'I'm not tellin' you not to worry. You should worry. There's always a chance somethin' can go wrong. But you can't let it overtake your life. People are goin' to think you don't care, because you're not twiddlin' your thumbs, waitin' by the window for him to come home.'

'That sounds so selfish,' Ginny observed.

Carter grinned, but it held a note of sorrow. '"To everythin' there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven," Miss Weasley,' he quoted. 'And that includes a time to weep and a time to laugh. It's all about balance, and if you don't learn how to find that, you're goin' to be very unhappy.' He eased himself from the desk and strode to the front of the classroom. 'Take your time to weep, Miss Weasley, but don't neglect your time to laugh.' He rifled through the quiz he'd given them to see how much they'd forgotten over the holiday. Ginny's was blank. He Vanished it with a careless wave of his wand. 'I've got a detention tonight with some of my fifth years. Come back at seven and I'll give you a make-up exam.'

'Thank you, sir,' Ginny said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

'One more thing, Miss Weasley…' Carter began. 'Outside of your family and friends, it doesn't matter what everyone else wants to think. They're not inside your head. Or your heart.'

'Yes, sir,' Ginny said, a thoughtful expression settling over her face.

* * *

Harry trudged down the walk, heading toward one of the pubs on his list. Avery had a separate list of English pubs, while Harry, after living with Seamus for six years, could do a passable approximation of his Irish lilt, and was much less obvious in the pubs the Irish frequented. He was a block away when a silver rooster dropped at his feet. 'What the…?'

'Harry, get out of there!' it hissed in Avery's voice. 'Get out of there –'

The rest of Avery's message was lost in as an explosion blew out the window of the pub. Harry instinctively threw an arm over his face, as he was thrown back several feet, rubble raining over his unconscious body.

Seconds later, amid the wailing sirens, Emma and Peter Apparated in an alley near the blasted pub. 'Do you see him?' Peter asked Emma urgently.

'No… Not yet. What color jumper was he wearing when he left the flat?'

'Red, I think.'

'That'll make him easier to spot,' Emma commented wryly.

'Is now the time, Em?' Peter snarled.

'I think I see him…' Emma darted into the street, followed by Peter. She knelt next to Harry, searching frantically for a pulse. 'He's alive…' she breathed, taking in the rest of the damage. His glasses were bent, the lenses broken. Blood trickled from an ear, and his hands were bloody and raw from flying rubble.

'How is he?'

Emma quickly looked around and pulled out her wand, and began muttering spells. 'We need to get him to St. Mungo's. Now.'

Peter nodded, and pulled off one of Harry's trainers. He pointed his wand at it, and muttered, ' _ Portus _ .' He grasped a handful of Harry's coat sleeve, and laid his hand on the trainer. 'Go find Avery, and go back to the flat.' He disappeared and landed outside the entrance of the hospital, cradling Harry's limp body against his, lest he be jarred in the landing. Peter jabbed his wand at Harry, strapping him tightly to a stretcher he conjured, then levitated him to the window. 'Peter Wilson. I have an injured Auror.' The mannequin beckoned and Peter lunged through the window. He handed Harry off to the Healers that swarmed over them.

'What caused this mess?' one Healer exclaimed.

'Muggle bomb,' Peter said tersely.

'So uncivilized,' the Healer muttered.

'And cursing someone into oblivion is?' retorted another.

Peter, satisfied Harry was being treated, swiftly made his way to the lone Floo connection on the other side of the reception area. Throwing in the Floo powder, he growled, 'The Ministry of Magic.'

* * *

Shacklebolt hesitated as he stood outside the Burrow. He could hear the wireless playing music, while Molly prepared dinner, and hated to disrupt the warm, cheery atmosphere. He knocked on the door, and Arthur opened it, smiling. 'Kingsley! Care to stay for dinner?'

'Arthur, I need to talk to you. Molly, too.'

'George and Ron haven't been caught importing Venomous Tentacula seeds, have they?' Arthur said with a smile.

'No.' Shacklebolt stepped inside the house and closed the door. 'Were you aware that Harry listed you and Molly in his file in case we had to notify someone of injury or death?'

'N-n-n-n-no,' Arthur stammered. 'Is he…?'

'Injured. Badly, according to his supervisor. He's at St. Mungo's right now.'

'I'll go fetch Molly,' Arthur said quickly.

* * *

Molly and Arthur clustered inside Harry's hospital room, white-faced and anxious, listening to the Healer list Harry's injuries. 'Concussion, ruptured TM –'

'What's that?' Molly interrupted.

'Eardrum,' the Healer replied patiently. 'Lacerations to his hands and face, three broken ribs, and several puncture wounds from debris. That's just from the initial examination.'

'Will he be all right?' Arthur asked nervously.

The Healer tried to smile reassuringly. 'We've treated the lacerations and puncture wounds, and we're trying to do something about the eardrum rupture. It should heal on its own, but we're trying to speed up the process. He might not be able to hear you clearly for a while, though. The ribs are next on the list, and there don't appear to be any internal injuries, but we're going to do a more thorough one soon. He's quite lucky.'

'What about the concussion?' Arthur asked.

'He regained consciousness about half an hour ago, but we gave him something for the pain, and it's made him quite drowsy. He'll sleep for a while.' The Healer allowed a small smile to grace her features. 'He's a rather difficult patient. Refused to stay in bed. He needs to rest.'

'Can we stay?' Molly asked.

The Healer glanced at a clock on the wall near the door. 'Until visiting hours are over. You've got a couple of hours.' She left the room, and Molly held the door open.

'You can come in now,' Molly said shakily.

George took one look at Harry's still body, before he bolted for the waiting area. 'George!' Molly called. 'George!'

He ignored her and pelted down the stairs to the street outside St. Mungo's. His head turned frantically, searching for a secluded alley. He ran into a dark side street, and Apparated in the shadows of a large rubbish bin. He appeared on the lane between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and headed for the large wrought iron gates that guarded the school. George hurled himself at them, and bounced off, landing ignominiously on his rear in the dirt. He launched himself at the massive gates, trying to rattle them. He couldn't slip through the bars, because the spaces between them narrowed when he tried. 'Send a Patronus, git,' he muttered to himself. 'Think of something happy…'

It was easier said than done. At first, George tried to use the day he and Fred opened the shop, but it was now accompanied by a pang of sorrow. He considered and discarded Katie. He didn't have a happy enough memory with her, and her rejection still stung too badly. 'Think, you bloody wanker!' George hissed. He fell to his knees, wracking his brain for something he could use. He returned to his first thought of using the day the shop opened, not having anything better in mind. ' _ Expecto _ …' he choked. Fine silver mist drifted from the tip of his wand. 'Opening the shop, doing what we wanted,' he reminded himself. 'On our terms…' He took a deep breath.  _ Ginny needs you… _ ' _ Expecto Patronum _ !' he bellowed, but it was no use. The mist grew thicker and took on the vague outline of a fox before dissipating in the cold night. Exhausted from the effort, George fell against the gates. 'Somebody, please…' he rasped.

'George?'

George's head jerked up, and the shape of Flitwick bobbed into the light. 'Professor,' he croaked. 'I need to see Ginny.'

Flitwick rose on his toes to tap the lock with his wand. 'Of course. All you had to do was ring the bell,' he said severely. 'The boars told the gargoyles at the staff lounge you were making quite a racket.'

'It's an emergency,' George said flatly, trying to stay with Flitwick, but growing visibly impatient. 'Sorry, Professor,' he mumbled, before breaking into a run. He skidded into the Great Hall, spying Ginny's flame-bright hair among the Gryffindors. He bypassed her, and went straight to the staff table. 'Professor McGonagall,' he panted. 'I need to take Ginny home.' He was aware of the sudden silence that descended over the students. George glanced over his shoulder at the Gryffindor table. Ginny and Hermione sat next to each other, their faces frozen in shock, drained of all color. 'Hermione, too.'

'Whatever is the matter, Weasley?' McGonagall asked.

George threw another anxious look over his shoulder and mouthed to McGonagall, 'Harry's hurt.'

If she worried about Harry at all, McGonagall didn't show it. Instead, her lips pressed together in a thin line – thinner than George had ever seen before. She nodded wordlessly and swept from her chair down the eerily silent Great Hall. 'Miss Granger, Miss Weasley… Come with me, if you please.'

Ginny's eyes closed, but she calmly stood up and picked up her bag, following McGonagall from the Great Hall. Once they had left, Ginny turned to George. 'Is it Mum? Dad?'

George couldn't bring himself to reply. He just shook his head and said, 'We ought to go.'

'George, what's going on?' Ginny demanded. Fear curled through her stomach in a wave of nausea.

'You can Floo from my office,' McGonagall interjected, leading them to the entrance to the Head's office, and murmuring the password.

'George?' Ginny asked, much more tentatively than she had before.

Hermione slipped an arm around Ginny's waist. She had known, with the way George searched for Ginny when he burst through the door, it wasn't either Molly or Arthur. 'It's Harry,' she murmured.

George gave her a grateful look, relieved he wasn't the one that had to say it.

Ginny could feel the blood begin to rush in her ears in mingled fury and apprehension. 'How bad is it?'

'I don't know,' George admitted. 'But he looks pretty bad.'

The door to McGonagall's office opened and she strode to the fireplace, picking up an urn with Floo powder. George and Hermione each dipped a hand into it, but Ginny stood stubbornly to the side. 'What happened?' she asked stiffly.

George's hand clenched around the handful of Floo powder and he turned to Ginny. 'I don't know,' he repeated. 'Dad came to fetch Ron and me from the shop…' He glanced at his watch.  _ Was it only an hour ago? _ 'When we were closing and told us to go to St. Mungo's.' He grabbed Ginny's hand and opened his fist over it, letting the Floo powder trickle into her palm. 'Fourth floor. There's a hidden doorway at the top of the stairs behind a tapestry of Janus Thickey. Password's "lethifold".'

Ginny's eyes narrowed, but she walked to the fireplace and threw in the Floo powder, gripping her bag tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Carter's talking to Ginny, he's quoting from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione paused with her hand on the door. 'It looks worse than it really is,' she told Ginny. 'I mean, it sounds bad, and concussion can have nasty side effects later, but he's been through a lot worse.'
> 
> 'Yes, I know,' Ginny said tartly. 'It's not the first time we've gathered around Harry's hospital bed.' She reached around Hermione and pulled the door open. 'And I reckon it won't be the last.'

Ginny stood outside the door of Harry's room, gazing at him through the narrow window. She glanced over her shoulder at George. He had stopped halfway down the corridor, and now leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. 'Aren't you coming?' she asked, biting her lip over the plaintive tone of her voice.

George shook his head. 'No. I'm good here.'

Ginny turned her head back to the window. Harry lay motionless in the bed, his face pale against the dark green sheets, half-healed cuts and scrapes scattered over his cheeks. Save for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he reminded her of Fred and she was reasonably sure George felt the same way. She pushed the door open and dropped her schoolbag next to it. 'Ginny… Hermione… How did the two of you get here?' Molly asked in surprise.

'George came to Hogwarts and asked Professor McGonagall if he could bring us here,' Hermione said. Ginny nodded, staring at Harry open-mouthed. She went to the bed and reached for his hand, but it was covered in pale blue paste. Both of his hands were coated in the paste, resting on squares of gauze.

'What happened?' Ginny asked, surprised at how steady her voice sounded, when she was certain everyone could see how badly she was shaking.

'He was in the right place at the wrong time,' a middle-aged wizard Ginny had never seen said.

'Who are you?' she asked.

'Ginny!' Molly hissed, shocked at her daughter's rude tone.

Ginny rubbed her fingers over her eyes. 'Sorry,' she mumbled.

'Peter Wilson. I'm Harry's supervisor,' Peter told her, impressed at Ginny's reactions. He'd been around family members who were twice her age who didn't handle run-of-the-mill curse damage nearly as well as she was coping with injuries from a bomb detonation. 'He was going to a pub to investigate its patrons when a bomb exploded inside it. He was far enough away from the pub that he avoided being seriously wounded,' he explained woodenly. 'We tried to notify him that he needed to leave, but we weren't able to warn him in time.'

Ginny inhaled slowly, her nose wrinkling at the odor of the potions coating Harry's hands and the worst of the cuts on his face. 'I see,' she said levelly. 'What's wrong with him?'

'The worst is a concussion, but he ought to recover from that in a few weeks. He's had a few broken ribs, the cuts on his face and hands, and a few deeper wounds from flying debris,' Peter recited. 'He's been given a rather strong potion for the pain, and that's why he sleeping.'

Ginny nodded silently, her fingers brushing over Harry's arm. She turned and walked to the door. 'Need the loo…' she muttered, quickly slipping out of the room. She strode across the waiting area, her hands clenched into fists, shoving open the door marked, "Ladies' Toilets". Ginny darted into the nearest stall and locked the door, leaning against it. She felt tears bubble to the surface and let them fall, relieved that it wasn't worse, then a wave of irrational anger.  _ It's not dangerous, my arse! _ she thought, slamming a fist against one of the stall's divider walls.

'Ginny?' Hermione's voice echoed off the tiled walls and floor. 'I've gotten a good look at the state of this floor, and I'm not about to crawl on it, looking under the doors for your feet.'

Ginny unlocked the door and peered through the gap. 'I'm all right,' she said, wiping her hands over her face.

'Your dad just sent a message to Professor McGonagall saying we'd come back on Sunday.'

'Okay.'

'And the Healer just came by and said we had to go for the night. But we'll be back in the morning, and Harry ought to be awake by then.'

Ginny nodded, reaching for the toilet roll and tearing off a strip. She blew her nose noisily and threw the wadded strip into the dustbin. 'Okay.'

Hermione paused with her hand on the door. 'It looks worse than it really is,' she told Ginny. 'I mean, it  _ sounds _ bad, and concussion can have nasty side effects later, but he's been through a lot worse.'

'Yes, I know,' Ginny said tartly. 'It's not the first time we've gathered around Harry's hospital bed.' She reached around Hermione and pulled the door open. 'And I reckon it won't be the last.'

* * *

Ginny propped her Charms textbook in her lap and began the homework Flitwick had assigned to them the day before. As she read the assigned pages, making notes in the margins, Hermione finished making up the camp bed they'd rescued from the attic. 'I don't know why you don't sleep in Bill's room,' Ginny commented. 'The bed's much more comfortable than that camp bed.'

'That's Harry's room,' Hermione said simply, tucking the quilt around the bed. After she plumped the pillow and dropped it on one end, she stood for a moment, looking at the neatly made bed. 'Right, I'm going to go… to the… erm…'

Ginny smiled. 'Just remember that Mum's up at six in the morning.' She carefully wrote a few more notes in the book. 'And rumple that bed before you go upstairs. At least it'll look like you've slept in it.'

Hermione slid her arms into her dressing gown. One of the school elves had shown up at the Burrow earlier with some of their clothes, much to their surprise. 'It's not much of a secret, is it?' she sighed in resignation.

Ginny chewed the end of her quill. 'Harry, George, and I know, but I think Mum and Dad are still in the dark. I can't speak for the boys, but I'm not telling.' She dimmed the lamp next to her bed. 'G'night, Hermione. I'll leave the lamp burning for you.'

'Isn't that going to disturb you?'

Ginny shook her head. 'I don't think I'm going to sleep much tonight.'

Hermione sat on the end of Ginny's bed. 'Gin, is it really going to help him if you stay awake?'

Ginny opened her mouth, then closed it with a  _ snap _ . Carter's words ricocheted around her brain. She closed her textbook, marking her place with the quill. 'Probably not.'

'Get some sleep. It's going to be a long few days.' Hermione slid off Ginny's bed. 'I'll try not to wake you up when I come back down.'

* * *

Hermione wriggled until her back was comfortably against Ron's chest. He laced his fingers through hers and sighed deeply, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of her hand. He shifted restlessly, his feet tangling in the sheet, twisting it around his ankles. Hermione turned over and propped herself on an elbow. 'What?' she asked without preamble.

'Nothing,' he huffed, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape.

'Ron, I've slept in the same bed with you off an on for a year now. You do not have issues falling asleep. Not unless there's something on your mind.'

'I thought it was going to be better,' Ron said tightly.

Hermione sat up, biting her knuckles to keep from laughing out loud and waking anyone else. 'Why would you think something like that?' she wheezed. 'Just because Voldie's pushing up daisies, did you think everything would be sweetness and sunshine?'

'You didn't?' Ron blurted incredulously.

'Why would you think something like that…?'

Ron scowled at the ceiling. 'Because,' he began with an air of exaggerated patience. 'He was a horrible… Can't even call him a person, really, but whatever he was, he caused a lot of terrible things to happen, and now that he's gone, it shouldn't be like that anymore.'

'Ron, evil isn't the sole provenance of Dark wizards,' Hermione told him. 'Muggle history is full of people just as bad as Voldemort,' she said matter-of-factly. 'We don't even know the full story behind what happened to Harry. Magic may have had nothing to do with it.'

Ron gnawed a ragged thumbnail contemplating what Hermione had said. 'That's why I didn't want to do it,' he mumbled. 'Well, one reason, anyway. I don't know how he can do that every day. Nearly made me mad…'

'Did you honestly think he'd do anything else?'

'Quidditch…'

Hermione snorted. 'With all the attention players get?'

'But he likes playing,' Ron maintained.

'I think it was his escape,' Hermione murmured sleepily. 'The only time he didn't have to be Harry Potter…' She yawned widely, belatedly covering her mouth with a hand. 'If he did it professionally, he might not have that anymore…' She turned her face into her pillow and draped an arm across Ron's chest. The sound of her slow breaths signaled she had fallen asleep. Ron covered her hand with his, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Sleep did not come quite so easily to him. He kept replaying the explosion at Hogwarts that killed Fred. Except now, when he tried to close his eyes, he saw Harry being buried under the wreckage instead.

* * *

Harry unglued his eyelids and slowly opened them, regretting it almost immediately. Even the dim light from the lamp next to his bed sent stabbing pains through his head. 'Owwww,' he moaned.

'Ah, Mr. Potter, you're awake.'

Harry lifted his hands, and slowly brought them to his face, intending to rub his eyes.

'Just a moment, Mr. Potter. You won't want to get that potion in your eyes…' Harry felt gentle hands close around his wrists. He frowned, and turned his head slightly. The Healer was standing on his left side, but he couldn't hear him very well.

'Where am I?' Harry asked confusedly.

'St. Mungo's,' the voice replied cheerfully. 'You've had a rather nasty accident.' Harry felt a rush of cool air over his hands as the potion coating them vanished. 'How do you feel this morning?'

Harry ran his tongue over his teeth. It felt like it had been coated in cotton wool. 'Thirsty,' he rasped. A straw nudged his lips and he greedily sucked down several gulps of water, almost whimpering when the straw was removed.

'You can have more later. Now, how are you feeling?'

'Head hurts,' Harry replied truthfully. It still throbbed painfully, echoing his heartbeat. He tried to stretch, but his body ached, reminding him uncomfortably of how much he'd hurt when he woke up after the battle. 'Hurts all over,' he added. 'Can't hear very well out of this ear,' Harry said, gesturing toward the left side of his head.

'We'll give you something for the pain in a bit and your hearing will get better as the eardrum heals. Are you hungry?'

'I don't know…'

'Well, I'll bring you a tray with your potion. You'll probably be hungry once your headache subsides.'

Harry blindly patted with one hand over the surface of a table. 'Where are my glasses?' he asked, feeling slightly panicked without them. He hated not being able to see anything.

'We have a replacement pair for you,' the Healer said briskly. 'Your old ones were beyond even  _ Reparo _ . And we tried. Even your friend from school, Hermione, tried. And she's quite clever, you know. We were able to replicate the strength of the lenses from what was left.'

Harry felt a something bulky slip into his hand. 'What are these?'

'One of the apprentice Healers calls them BCGs,' the Healer said wryly.

Harry carefully unfolded them and perched them on his nose. They felt monstrously enormous. 'What does BCG mean?'

'Birth Control Glasses. Because they're so ugly, no bird in her right mind would shag you while you're wearing them. Just as well they're only temporary until you can replace your other ones.'

Harry's eyes opened to slits and he peered at the stocky man standing next to his bed, clad in green robes. 'Who are you?'

'David Leighton. I'm assigned to treat the Aurors that come through here.'

'Oh…'

Leighton patted Harry's shoulder. 'I'll be back in just a moment with your breakfast.'

As soon as he left Harry gingerly examined his hands, noting the wide patches of raw, pink skin. He tried to take a deep breath, but his ribs ached abominably. He carefully turned his head when the door opened to admit Leighton again. 'Why am I here?'

Leighton handed Harry a vial with a dark blue potion. 'Drink that first.'

Harry tilted the vial over his mouth, gagging at the bitter taste. He repressed the urge to scrub his tongue on the blanket over his lap and handed the empty vial back to Leighton. 'The last thing I remember,' he began slowly, 'I was leaving the flat we were staying in…'

'That's normal.' Leighton began to flick his wand at Harry. 'You seem to be coming along nicely,' he commented. 'The concussion's still an issue, but you ought to be able to go home in a couple of days.'

'Concussion?'

'Your supervisor will be here later to explain it all,' Leighton said smoothly. 'How's the headache?'

Harry rubbed his forehead. 'Better,' he told him. It was true – it had regressed to a dull persistent ache, comparable to what he'd lived with the year before. He could live with it.

'Good.' Leighton jabbed his wand at the bed and a tray with porridge, toast, and a bowl of grapes appeared on Harry's lap. 'Go easy on the porridge,' Leighton advised. 'Stronger men than you haven't been able to handle it. When you're done with it, just Vanish it. Your wand's in the drawer of that bedside table.'

Harry picked up the spoon and prodded the surface of the porridge. 'Thanks…'

Leighton chuckled. 'Don't thank me yet,' he chortled as he left the room.

* * *

'What the bloody hell are those?' Ron blurted when he walked through the door of Harry's hospital room.

'Ronald!' Hermione hissed, smacking him in the arm.

'What?'

'That's not polite.'

'Why?' Harry asked, grimacing a little. The addition of three additional people to the room ratcheted up the noise level, even though they all attempted to speak in hushed tones. It made his head hurt a little more. 'It's what I said when the Healer gave them to me.'

'Good thing you didn't have something like that in school, mate,' Ron told Harry, sitting on the foot of the bed. 'Nobody'd look at you twice…'

'Ron!' Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him off the bed.

'Healer said that, too,' Harry said helpfully. His brows drew together as he took in the girls' presence. 'When did you two get here?'

'We came last night,' Hermione replied.

'McGonagall let you leave? For this?' Harry snorted. 'She must have thought I was on my deathbed…'

'Well, George was most insistent,' Hermione told him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. 'I'm glad you're doing better.'

Harry glanced around the room. 'Where is George?'

'At the shop. He'll be along later,' Ron said quickly. 'Got lots of owl orders to fill, now that the school term's started.' He glanced at his watch. 'I ought to get going. I'll be back later, then.'

'I'll come with you,' Hermione said hastily. She followed Ron out of the room, leaving him alone with Ginny, who had hung back by the door.

'You're pretty upset, aren't you?' Harry stated, settling into the pillows stacked behind his back and closing his eyes. It helped with the headache.

'What makes you think I'm upset?' Ginny huffed.

Harry cracked an eye open. 'You're quiet,' he said. 'Too quiet.'

'You knew this assignment was dangerous, didn't you?' Ginny asked evenly. 'Why did you lie to me?' She ground her teeth together, restraining the anger she'd felt at being misled, speaking in conversational tones, when all she wanted to do was yell. It might not solve anything, but it would make her feel better.

'It wasn't supposed to be,' Harry insisted. 'I was just supposed to be observing this group in Belfast, to see if they were being influenced by any of the Death Eaters that weren't captured at Hogwarts last spring.' He closed his eye once more. 'I didn't want you to worry…'

Ginny pushed herself off the wall and dropped into the chair in the corner. 'Of course I'm going to worry,' she muttered, pulling her textbooks from her bag. 'I'd worry if you played Quidditch professionally.'

Harry turned his head on the pillows and opened his eyes enough to look at Ginny. 'Could you move to this side?' he asked, indicating the right side of the bed. 'You sound like you're underwater over there.'

Ginny stared at him for a moment, then stood up, dropping her schoolbag and books into the chair and carried it around the foot to the other side of Harry's bed. 'Even if you worked in the shop, I'd worry,' she told him, once she had settled in the chair again. 'I heard too many explosions from Fred and George's room when I was younger.' She started writing on a scroll of parchment. 'Don't lie to me like that again.'

'Gin, I can't tell you everything I'm doing on a case…' Harry protested.

'I know,' she replied calmly, running a finger down the text of her Transfiguration textbook, pausing when she came upon the correct spell. 'Tell me what you'd tell Ron or Hermione,' she suggested.

'What makes you think I told Ron or Hermione more than I told you?'

'I may not be an Auror, Harry, but out of Mum, Dad, George, Ron, Hermione, and me, Ron was the least surprised or stunned by the news you'd been hurt. Concerned, sure –we all were – but it's almost like he expected something untoward to happen.'

'And how could you tell?

'George,' Ginny replied, as if it explained everything. 'I couldn't get to sleep last night, so I went into the kitchen for some tea and George was already there. He said when Dad came to fetch them from the shop; Ron just didn't seem to act surprised by it. And when the two of you came up to the flat on New Year's Eve, Ron looked a little anxious. Not quite as anxious as before a game, but like when he had a lot of homework due Monday morning and it was Sunday evening, and he hadn’t written two words for a twelve-inch essay. At the time, I just figured he was feeling tetchy about asking George if he could move into the flat. And the two of you were talking on the stairs for an awfully long time. It sort of all fell together when I managed to fall asleep.'

Harry started to laugh, but it made his ribs and head hurt too much. 'Dark wizards better hope you don't join MLE or the Wizengamot,' he said.

'Is that supposed to be a compliment?' Ginny asked tartly.

'It is.' Harry closed his eyes against weak light coming in from the small window.

Ginny noticed Harry's abandoned breakfast with a moue of distaste. 'Mum'll be along around lunchtime,' she told him. 'Bearing gifts of food and clean pajamas. And a change of clothes for when they let you out of here.'

'That's a relief,' Harry breathed. 'That porridge left a lot to be desired.'

Ginny set her quill down and gazed at Harry for a moment. 'Do you remember anything?' she asked tentatively.

'No,' Harry answered truthfully. 'I remember leaving the flat and walking to a pub, but that's it. The next thing I really remember is waking up this morning. They said I woke up, talked to them, insisted I had to get back to Belfast. I'll have to take their word for it.' Harry turned his head on the pillow, opening his eyes a bit, watching Ginny do her homework. 'It won't always be like this,' he said quietly.

The corner of Ginny's mouth tipped up in a wry grin. 'Yes, it will.'

* * *

Ron packed another parcel and scrawled the recipient's name on it, in care of Hogwarts. He glanced at Hermione, industriously doing the same, although her penmanship was much more elegant than his. 'Why didn't you stay at the hospital with Ginny?' he asked idly. It wasn't that he minded the company, but it ran contrary to what she'd planned earlier that morning. 'I thought you said the two of you were going to work on your Transfiguration essay together. I didn't think you had any issues with hospitals.'

'I thought I'd give Ginny some time alone,' she replied with a shrug. 'They won't have much, I imagine. And she seemed a bit upset. They needed to chat a little in private.'

'You could have just waited in the waiting area for a bit,' Ron argued.

'Do you want me to leave?' Hermione asked archly, Banishing the parcel to the pile at the end of the table.

'No.'

'I'm going back after lunch anyway.' Hermione eyed Ron for a moment, while she packed another parcel. 'Have you talked to George about the flat yet?'

Ron shook his head, as he wrote out another address on a parcel. 'Not yet. I was actually going to last weekend, because he'd been in a good mood for the past week, but last Friday, he was back to acting like a wanker. Been acting like a scalded Kneazle since then.'

'Is that why you're back here, and not in the front?'

'Yeah…' Ron Banished his parcel to the end of the table. 'I'd like to wait for a good time to ask…'

'As in when it's been a good week here, and nothing's reminded George in particular of Fred, and all the stars are in alignment?' Hermione snorted.

'Something like that.'

Hermione leaned on the table, her elbows resting on the worn surface. 'You do realize that's not going to happen.'

'Right.' Ron glanced down at the stack of order forms and pushed one across the table to Hermione. 'I mean, what's the worst he could do? Hex me for asking?' His lighthearted expression sobered rapidly. 'He's going to hex me for asking!' he nearly wailed.

'He's not going to hex you for asking,' Hermione said patiently, flicking her wand at a shelf on the other side of the room. 'Honestly, Ron, the worst thing he could do is say no.'

'Yeah, but the flat's free, yeah? And it's a bit expensive to let a flat in Diagon Alley. I've looked.'

'George does pay you, doesn't he?' Hermione chuckled.

'Well, yeah…'

'And I'm assuming he pays you more than a mere pittance.'

'I suppose… Seventy-five Galleons a week.'

Hermione made a few rapid calculations in her head. 'Can you wait for me to get out of school?' she asked. 'If we share a flat, it won't be too dear.'

'You mean you don't want to share with Harry and me?' Ron teased.

'I hate to tell you, but if you share a flat with Harry, all those things that you and I do when we're alone, Harry will do with Ginny…' Hermione bit her lip as Ron's face rapidly changed color, going from red to white, then finally settling on a sort of greenish hue. 'In the flat.'

'Yeah, I can wait for you to finish school…'

Hermione leaned across the table and kissed Ron lightly. 'Look on the bright side. It gives you a few more months for the stars to align to talk to George.'

* * *

Leighton watched as Harry stood shakily next to the bed. 'Sit down before you fall down,' he said, amused. Aurors always tried to get out of bed too soon. They were even worse patients than Healers, and that was saying something. He consulted his clipboard and made a few notes on Harry's file. 'All right. When your, erm… well, family, I suppose you'd call them, arrives, you're free to go. But I've got a few guidelines for you to follow until I've cleared you.

'First, you're on medical leave for at least two weeks. I want to see you again on Friday. If you have any more memory loss or your eyesight worsens, headaches don't go away, you come back immediately, do you hear me?'

'Yeah,' Harry said tiredly. Just the act of washing and dressing this morning had worn him out. He put one hand on the bed and carefully lowered himself to the edge.

'I've got some potions for you to take for the headaches, if you need them.'

'Okay.'

'No climbing stairs, if you can avoid it. If you can't, be careful. Take them slowly. Take extra caution in the bath for the time being. No Flooing, obviously. No flying about on brooms and no Apparition.'

'How am I supposed to get home?' Harry asked sarcastically.

'Oh, someone can Side-Along you, but no solo Apparition.'

'And how long do I have to be treated like a child?' Harry asked irritably.

'Until you're asymptomatic.'

'And how long is that going to be?'

'However long it takes. But generally within two weeks.' Leighton handed a sheet of parchment to Harry. 'It's all written down here for you.'

'Brilliant.' Harry peered at the closely-written sheet, scowling at the limitations on his activities.

'And don't try to go back to work before you've been cleared to do so,' Leighton added. 'Aurors are notorious for not following their Healers' advice.'

'What am I going to do for two weeks?' Harry wondered.

'Let's see…' Leighton gazed over Harry's shoulder at the sheet. 'Rest, rest, and… More rest.'

Harry snorted. 'Do you know how boring that's going to be?'

Leighton patted Harry on the shoulder. 'From what I've been able to figure out about you, Harry, you could use two weeks to do nothing.'

'Oh, good, you're still here,' Peter said as he walked into the room. 'I was afraid I'd have to chase you down to Devon.' He settled in the chair next to the bed. 'The Malfoy trials have been postponed,' he said, bypassing any small talk. 'Until the end of next month.' He glanced at Leighton. 'I presume that's enough time for Harry to be considered mentally sound?'

'Plenty,' Leighton told him.

'Hang on,' Harry said, feeling aggravated that he was being talked about as if he weren't in the room. 'What do you mean by mentally sound? The Wizengamot doesn't think I'm still barmy, do they?'

Peter sighed and stretched his feet out. 'It's something they came up with after the war ended. Any witnesses in a trial against former Death Eaters have to be evaluated as, well, sane… Just to prevent false testimony.'

'I don't remember being evaluated,' Harry said in confusion.  _ Was I? _

'Well, you weren't, really. Not formally like normal Auror trainees, but Kingsley vouched for you. And we don't want to do the trials until there's no question of your fitness as a witness.'

'Right,' Harry muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Arthur's head poked through the door. 'Are you ready to go?'

Harry carefully slid off the bed. 'You've got no idea,' he grumbled.

* * *

'You all right?' Ginny whispered under the swirl of conversation around the table, attempting to keep her voice low, so Molly didn't hear her.

'Yeah…' Harry pushed a carrot into the pile on his plate. He hadn't been hungry since he woke up Friday morning.

Ginny glanced skeptically at his still-full plate. 'You've barely touched your lunch,' she said.

'I'm fine, Ginny,' Harry said in exasperation. 'Just not hungry.'

Molly's head came up. 'Are you feeling unwell?' she asked worriedly.

'I'm fine,' Harry sighed. 'Just not hungry,' he repeated.

'Well, why don't you go have a bit of a kip? I'll bring you some soup later,' she suggested.

'I'm not tired,' Harry said mulishly, the shadows under his eyes belying how exhausted he did feel.

Ginny pushed her plate away. 'I'm done,' she said quickly. She looked at Harry. 'Maybe you can check over my Defense notes. I think I'm missing something…'

'Gin, your notes are…' Harry's voice was cut off by Ginny nudging him under the table. 'What?' Ginny glared at him, her eyes flicking back to Molly. 'Oh, right. Yeah. You had the incantation for that one spell wrong…' He pushed his chair back and slowly stood up, annoyed at how shaky he was. He followed Ginny into the sitting room and gingerly sat on the sofa. 'Thanks,' he said softly. 'I love your mum, but…'

'She likes to hover,' Ginny finished. 'So what are you going to do until you can go back to work?'

'I don't know,' Harry admitted. 'I can't read for longer than a few minutes without getting dizzy. Light kind of gives me a headache. And walking in a straight line is totally out of the question.'

'Sleep is good,' Ginny said brightly.

'Yeah…' Harry rested his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. 'Maybe in a few days I can go in with Ron and George, and maybe keep an eye on the front counter.'

'You could.'

Harry pulled the glasses off and glared at them balefully. 'Get new glasses,' he said. 'Two pairs. Then I can have an extra pair in case something happens. These are just…'

'Hideous,' Ginny stated.

Molly hurried into the sitting room, with a blanket and a couple of pillows. 'Ginny, let Harry stretch out a bit so he can rest,' she ordered. Ginny slid off the sofa and moved into the armchair next to the sofa. Molly fussed with a blanket, unfurling it over Harry, tugging it just so over his knees, stuffing an extra pillow behind his back.

'Molly… Please, I'm fine.' Harry winced at the fretful tone of his voice. He didn't mean to whine, but he wanted to be left alone.

'You stay right there. I'll be right back with some soup.'

'But I'm not hungry,' Harry protested weakly. He tilted his head so he could see Ginny. 'It's going to be like this until I'm better, isn't it?'

'I'm afraid so.'

Hermione's head appeared through the kitchen door. 'Ginny, it's time to go.'

'I'll be out in a minute.' Ginny moved to the edge of the sofa. 'Is it okay to kiss you?'

'Kisses are part of the healing process,' Harry said seriously.

'Why didn't you say so?' Ginny leaned into him and kissed him lightly. She was about to pull away, when Harry's hands twined in her hair and he deepened the kiss, breaking off only when Molly cleared her throat noisily from the doorway.

'I feel much better,' Harry said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time I wrote this -- nearly 10 years ago! (yikes!) seventy-five Galleons were equal to 755 US dollars, 375 British pounds, or 553 euros.


	39. Closer to Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I hadn't noticed it before then, because Arthur insisted that I stop incessantly checking the clock. It's a little difficult for a parent to realize that you can't wrap your babies up in cotton wool and protect them from harm. And it's not as if staring at that clock at all hours of the day will keep anything from happening to you.'
> 
> In that moment, Harry saw Molly with a clarity he hadn't had before. That she hovered when they were home, because she couldn't when they were out. What he saw as stifling overprotection, was her way of attempting to make up for the fact she wasn't able to throw up Shield charms between them and all the evil in the world. He kept his eyes firmly on the clock while Molly unobtrusively wiped her eyes on the edge of her apron. 'Well,' she said briskly. 'This isn't going to finish dinner.' She pushed her chair back and stood up, redirecting her attentions to the stew burbling away on the stove.

Harry pulled the large, heavy glasses off and massaged his forehead. They were leaving dents in the sides of his nose. It was aggravating. Everything was aggravating. He was unimaginably bored. Reading, which might have kept him from going mad with ennui, made him dizzy. Molly had brought a small wireless to his bedroom, but the only thing he liked were Quidditch matches, and those only aired in the evenings. The daytime hours were unfortunately dominated by the kind of programs his aunt had had watched on the telly after lunch. It made his stomach turn. He could hardly leave the room and go to the loo without Molly following hot on his heels, in case he should be stricken with a sudden dizzy spell. The cosseting was starting to get on his nerves. Harry preferred to be left alone when he didn't feel well, but he couldn't figure out how to tell Molly to leave him be. He spent the days counting down the minutes until either Arthur, George, or Ron came home to deflect some of Molly's attentions. His appetite had slowly begun to return, but Molly clucked in disapproval over the amount of food he left on his plate after each meal.

'Harry?' Molly knocked softly on the partially-open door. 'Are you up for visitors?'

Harry sat up quickly, the glasses clattering to the floor. 'Yes! Yes, I'm perfectly fine for a visitor!' A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he swayed against the pillows.

'Here ya go, kid,' Carter said softly, slipping the glasses into Harry's hand.

'Thanks…' Harry slid the glasses over his nose, blinking as the darkened room swam into focus.

'Light bother ya?'

'A little…' Nevertheless, Harry reached for the lamp next to the bed, and turned it up a bit more. 'Hiya…'

'Guess I can tell Minerva to stop worryin' about ya so much.' Carter conjured a chair and dropped into it. 'She didn't really believe it when Miss Weasley and Miss Granger said you were gonna be all right. She might be a tough old bird around the students, but she does lose sleep over you. All of y'all, not just the Gryffindors,' he added.

Harry nodded, remembering McGonagall's reactions to any sort of injury to a student when she thought she was out of earshot from the students, and especially to his own supposed death last May. 'Yeah…' Harry pushed himself up higher in the bed. 'Not to be rude, but I have a feeling you didn't just come here to soothe Professor McGonagall's concerns. I mean, Ottery-St.-Catchpole's a bit out of the way from Hogsmeade.'

'Well, no, not so much.' Carter eyed the boy peering at him from behind the most unsightly pair of glasses he'd ever seen on someone outside the Muggle armed forces. 'You don't have to keep everythin' such a secret,' he said.

'But I don't want to compromise an investigation,' Harry shot back.

'You also don't want to compromise your relationship with Miss Weasley, presumin' it becomes somethin' more.'

'It might,' Harry allowed, wondering where Carter was going with this conversation.

'So, how many Aurors over here are married?' Carter asked, tipping his chair on its back legs.

'Not very many. My supervisor is, and I think a couple of others are, but it doesn't happen often. Not with Riddle making life so difficult before.'

'Rid… Oh, yeah, Voldemort.' Carter ran a hand through his hair. 'It's not quite the same in the U.S. We didn't have the same issues like you did over here, so a lot of us were married. I was.'

Harry's eyes flicked to Carter's left hand. 'But you're not now.'

Carter's thumb rubbed his left ring finger reflexively. 'No. If I'd been honest with my ex-wife, we might not've gotten married in the first place.'

'She had something against Aurors?'

'You could say that. She had somethin' against wizards, to be exact.'

'You didn't tell her you were a wizard…?'

Carter shook his head. 'I met her in Chicago, right after I was transferred from Manhattan. Y'remember when I told you that some of the students at Salem get disowned by their parents for bein' magic?'

'Yeah…'

'That's what Faith was like…' His attention focused inwardly and his voice dropped to a murmur. 'Not that she was hateful or anythin'. She just believed in what she thought was right. And I loved her. I kept thinkin' I'd tell her I was a wizard later. Well, later came and went, and I still hadn't said anythin'. I charmed all my pictures to not move when she came over to my apartment, made sure she didn't see my wand lyin' around anywhere. I even disconnected my fireplace from our Floo network.'

'Blimey,' Harry breathed, unsure of whether to be impressed or disdainful of the lengths Carter went to in order to hide himself.

'I was a damn fool,' Carter snorted. 'I know that  _ now _ . Then, I just thought I was makin' compromises that you'd make for someone you love. At any rate, we got married, and it was just easier to not tell Faith. I just told her I was a police detective. Close enough to the truth, but still a lie. I got hurt pretty bad investigatin' someone and the Ministry office in Chicago had to bend over backwards to keep Faith from findin' out because I begged 'em to. That was when I decided to quit bein' an Auror. The school in St. Louis needed someone to help teach Defense, so they offered it to me and I jumped at the chance.'

'Wouldn't you have to live at the school, like you do at Hogwarts?'

'No. Even with magic, our buildings aren't nearly as large as Hogwarts. It was a nice, normal job with regular hours. And things were fine for a while, then Faith got pregnant. I didn't know if the baby'd be magic or not and if it turned out the baby wasn't magic, it gave me another excuse to not say anythin' to Faith. But just after Leah's fourth birthday, she pitched a temper tantrum in the middle of the grocery store and some watermelons exploded. Poor teenager workin' in the produce section had a time tryin' to explain why a perfectly good watermelon'd explode like that. People just thought it was a bad melon.

'It was just the beginnin' for Leah. Faith had to cut chewin' gum outta Leah's hair one night, and the next day it'd grown back. Or the frilly dress that Leah didn't wanna wear shrunk when Faith tried t'make her wear it. Faith thought she was goin' crazy. So I told her. What I am. What Leah will be. She took Leah and moved out. And when she filed for divorce, I didn't have any recourse in wizarding law, because everything was in the Muggle system. Faith couldn't very well say I was a wizard in a Muggle court, so she made it sound like I had this bizarre "alternative lifestyle.”' Carter's facial expression didn't change but his voice grew even quieter. 'She got full custody of Leah. I've only seen her a handful of times since then.' Carter spread his hands wide, exhaling gustily. 'After that, I heard from Gareth, Kingsley's younger brother, that they needed a Defense teacher here. I had heard the position was cursed, but figured things couldn't get worse than they already were.'

'Curse is broken,' Harry supplied helpfully. 'Not sure now if you'd consider that a good thing or not…'

'Nice to know I won't die at the end of the year,' Carter quipped. 'I know it's not the same situation and all, kid, but not bein' entirely truthful with someone because you think it's for the best doesn't usually work out very well. And it's better if you figure out if you can be honest with Miss Weasley now, before things like marriage and kids get thrown into the mix.'

'So why are you telling me this?' Harry asked warily. He thought it was quite a lot of personal information to share.

'Part of normal Auror trainin' is to make sure you're not gonna go off the deep end any time soon. And that also includes knowin' whether or not you know what you can talk about and what you have to keep to yourself. You kinda skipped all that.'

'I suppose if I haven't gone mad by now, I'll be all right,' Harry said.

'And you don't have much experience dealin' with married Aurors over here.'

Harry shifted in his bed, and pulled his knees up to his chest. 'You didn't just come by to check on my health,' he stated.

'No.'

Harry thoughtfully chewed a hangnail on his thumb. 'Kingsley sent for you,' he guessed. 'Am I right?'

'More or less,' Carter admitted. 'Peter Wilson mentioned it to Kingsley, since you didn't get the screening the others got.'

'So why didn't Peter come do this little heart-to-heart?' Harry asked snidely.

'Because Peter's wife used to be an Auror until they got married. He's never felt the overwhelming need to hide his work from her. And Kingsley's never been married. Unless you count his job… They thought you might take it better from me.'

Harry snorted, pulling his glasses off. 'Because you're not a direct supervisor,' he huffed. 'I seem to have issues with people in positions of authority.'

Carter chuckled quietly. 'Yeah, so do I.' He rocked the chair forward, so all four legs rested against the floor. 'I didn't come to lecture ya, kid, and I didn't mean to spill all my history on ya like that.'

Harry felt his mouth curve upward. 'Just as well,' he began. 'I can be a bit thick sometimes. Have to be beaten over the head with something before I get it.'

Carter pushed himself to his feet and waved his wand desultorily at the chair making it vanish. 'One more thing, kid…'

'What?'

'Those are the ugliest damn glasses I've ever seen on a witch or wizard. What happened to your old ones?'

'They're in an alley in Belfast,' Harry replied. 'Or a dustbin at St. Mungo's. Couldn't be repaired.'

'Fubar, eh?'

'What?'

Carter grinned slowly. 'Fucked up beyond all recognition.'

'Something like that.'

'Hm.' Carter started to walk out of the room. 'Don't go out in public with those on, kid. You'll scare small children.’ 

Harry grinned, and slid down into the bed, waving his wand at the lamp, plunging the room into a near-twilight darkness that didn't make his head hurt. 'The first chance I get,' he promised. 'I'm going to replace them'

* * *

George sorted through a stack of merchandise. 'What do you think of disappearing knickers?' he asked idly.

Ron's hand jerked and he toppled a stack of fireworks boxes. 'I think they're brilliant,' he blurted, mouth going dry.

'To sell for Valentine's Day,' George said dryly.

Ron began to restack the fireworks. 'Might work,' he told George. 'Bit cheeky thought, innit?'

'Thinking about sending some to Hermione?' George asked, trying to banish the images of what his younger brother and his girlfriend could do with a pair of disappearing knickers.

Ron coughed and mumbled something George couldn't quite hear.

George gazed around the bustling shop. 'Yeah. Wouldn't quite do for the window display.'

'In the curtained-off area, maybe?' Ron suggested.

'Yeah. But we still need something for the window.'

Ron began to snicker. 'Ever heard of some Muggle thing called a mood ring?'

'A what?'

'Hermione used to have one. It's supposed to turn colors based on your mood. She says it's complete rubbish, that there's really just a potion inside that changes colors based on temperature.'

'We could do that!' George said excitedly, mostly because it was a totally new idea, one that had never occurred to neither him, nor Fred. 'Do they have to be just rings, do you think?'

'I don't see why,' Ron said, shrugging.

'Could add it to the Wonder Witch line,' George muttered, diving for the small box that held a bit of extra gold. 'Be back in a mo,' he said. He dashed out into the street, leaving Ron gaping after him and hurried down to Madam Malkin's, intent on his destination and not the people around him, so much so, that he ran headlong into another person, scurrying down the street in the opposite direction. 'Ooof!' George grunted, looking down in surprise at the figure sprawled on the slushy cobblestones.

Katie's mouth dropped open and she flushed painfully. 'Hiya…' she said weakly, accepting George's proffered hand. He hauled her to her feet, unable to meet her eyes.

'All right, then?' he asked brusquely.

Katie nodded. 'Yeah, fine…'

'Right. See you around, then.' He could feel Katie staring after him as he walked away so quickly, he was almost running.

'Katie?'

Katie spun in confusion. 'Mum?'

'Katie, you're soaking wet…' Belinda clucked in concern, whipping out her wand.

'Tripped,' Katie murmured, glancing over her shoulder at George, hair bright in the dull grey January afternoon, until he slipped inside Madam Malkin's. 'What are you doing in Diagon Alley?' she asked her mother.

'My supply of magical herbs is a bit low,' Belinda said nonchalantly.

'Mum, you grow your own herbs,' Katie said pointedly, heading toward her flat.

'Muggle herbs,' Belinda corrected. 'Things you can find in any common Muggle garden.'

'You usually order the others by owl post,' Katie said, as she opened the door of her building and trudging up the stairs.

'All right. You've found me out. I came to see you. Haven't seen you at home much lately.'

'I've been busy, Mum,' Katie sighed.

'I could tell you Timmy misses you, but you've always been impervious to maternal guilt,' Belinda told her.

Katie tapped her doorknob with her wand. 'It's a gift,' she retorted. She flicked her wand at the lamp over her small table, filling the room with light.

Belinda gazed around Katie's small flat in dismay. Old issues of the  _ Daily Prophet _ were piled haphazardly, dirty dishes were stacked in her sink, and through the bedroom door, Belinda could see a pile of laundry on the floor in the corner and Katie's disheveled bed. She reckoned if she checked under the sofa, she'd find dust bunnies large enough to rival boarhounds. Katie hated cleaning, but she wasn't normally this slovenly. 'Are you feeling all right?' she asked.

'I'm fine, Mum,' Katie grumbled, striding into her bedroom, and grabbing a crumpled pair of jeans. She peeled off her wet trousers, grimacing at the mud ground into them and on the back of her coat. She jabbed her wand at the coat, cleaning off the worst of the mud. It would have to do for now.

'Wasn't that your friend George with you in the street?' Belinda called from the kitchen, waving her wand over the sink.

'Yes, Mum.'

'Seemed a bit put out,' Belinda commented, making a pot of tea.

'He was,' Katie replied shortly, returning to the kitchen.

'He seemed a bit put out with  _ you _ ,' Belinda added.

'He is,' Katie admitted, pouring herself a cup of tea. Belinda said nothing, waiting expectantly for Katie to continue, placidly fixing a cup of tea for herself. Katie heaved a sigh. 'He asked me out and I turned him down,' she explained.

'But I thought you liked George…'

'I do, but it's complicated.'

'What's complicated about it?'

'Because he won't let Fred go.'

Belinda choked on her tea. She set the cup down, and wiped her mouth with a tea towel. 'Katherine Patricia Bell, that is probably the stupidest thing you've ever said.'

'What?' Katie yelped, stung.

'Katherine, you cannot just expect George to get on with things because it's uncomfortable for you.'

'Since when do you call me Katherine…?'

'Since you started acting as if you don't have a brain,' Belinda said tartly.

'Mum,' Katie began with forced patience. 'I just ended a somewhat comfortable, albeit boring, relationship, and as much as I like George…' Katie shrugged helplessly.

Belinda nodded and put her cup in the sink. 'I see. And losing George's company hasn't bothered you at all, then?' She waved at the messy clutter littering Katie's flat.

Tears welled in Katie's eyes. 'I didn't say that, Mum,' she said quietly, sniffing. 'What should I do?'

Belinda drew Katie closer. 'I think you ought to apologize to George, for starters.'

'But…' Katie protested weakly.

'No buts, young lady,' Belinda said briskly. 'I'm so disappointed in you, Katie. I didn't raise you to be this insensitive to other people.'

'Mum!'

'Now, Katie, I'm not trying to get your wand in a twist, but after everything you've done with George, for you to just expect him to conform to your desires like that is unconscionable.'

Katie slammed her cup to the counter, splattering them both with tea. 'How would you like it if every time you were together, he thought things would be so much better if his brother were around? Hmm? To know that you'll never be enough for him?' Katie grabbed her coat and stalked to the door. 'I need to go back to work,' she growled. 'Lock the door when you leave.'

* * *

Harry slowly made his way down to the kitchen, tightly gripping the banister. He was tired of being cooped up in the bedroom, staring at the four walls, floor, or ceiling. The scent of Molly preparing dinner wafted up the stairs, and it made his stomach growl in anticipation. At the bottom of the staircase, he wobbled a little as he let go of the banister, and took a moment to find his balance. Lightly trailing his fingers along the wall for support, he shuffled into the kitchen. 'Could I have some tea?' he asked.

Molly turned around. 'Harry, what are you doing out of bed?' She bustled to help him into a chair.

'Just really needed to get up…' Harry sighed. Molly bit her lip doubtfully. 'I promise, I'm fine,' he assured her. Molly shook her head, and flicked her wand at the cupboard. Two cups landed gently on the table, and she Summoned the teapot, tapping it with her wand as it floated past her. Before it landed on the table, it tipped forward, pouring tea into each of their cups. Harry added milk to his tea and picked up the cup sipping it gratefully.

'The second you feel dizzy, it's back to bed with you,' Molly instructed.

'Yes, ma'am,' Harry murmured.

Molly examined Harry, slouched in his chair, those awful glasses dominating his face. It reminded her of the first morning he'd eaten breakfast with them, still bundled into his too-large pajamas, hair messily in his eyes, his round glasses a little too big for his still-childish face. 'Sometimes, I can still see the little boy peeking out from under that fringe,' she said mistily, brushing the hair from Harry's eyes.

Harry grinned crookedly. 'Not so little now, yeah?'

'No, I suppose not,' Molly said wistfully.

Harry glanced into the sitting room, where he could see the clock over the mantle. 'What does it say when I'm out on a case?' he asked curiously.

Molly followed his gaze and sipped her tea. 'Work, mostly. The last time they sent you out it went to Mortal Peril just once, and that was the night before you came home. And it was only for a few moments. This time it was at Mortal Peril quite a bit. When Kingsley came to tell us you were in St. Mungo's, it had already changed to Hospital. I hadn't noticed it before then, because Arthur insisted that I stop incessantly checking the clock. It's a little difficult for a parent to realize that you can't wrap your babies up in cotton wool and protect them from harm. And it's not as if staring at that clock at all hours of the day will keep anything from happening to you.'

In that moment, Harry saw Molly with a clarity he hadn't had before. That she hovered when they were home, because she couldn't when they were out. What he saw as stifling overprotection, was her way of attempting to make up for the fact she wasn't able to throw up Shield charms between them and all the evil in the world. He kept his eyes firmly on the clock while Molly unobtrusively wiped her eyes on the edge of her apron. 'Well,' she said briskly. 'This isn't going to finish dinner.' She pushed her chair back and stood up, redirecting her attentions to the stew burbling away on the stove.

'Molly…?'

Molly paused in her actions. 'Yes, dear?'

'Thanks…'


	40. Made to Be Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's eyes followed the line of his charcoal. 'I know everyone's got their own timetable for getting on with things, but you have to learn to live without Fred,' he murmured.
> 
> 'Why does everyone keep telling me that?' George snarled.
> 
> 'Because it's true,' Charlie retorted. 'If you keep thinking about how much better Fred would have done things, you're never going to get better at it.' He rubbed a fingertip over the line of George's jaw in the sketch book. 'You're going to spend the rest of your life living under his shadow.'
> 
> George's mouth closed and he stared into the fire.

George pointed his wand at a fanciful butterfly-shaped pendant. 'I hope this is the right combination of spells,' he said, cocking an eyebrow at a small pile of melted pewter pendants. 'Here goes nothing.' He closed his eyes and muttered a series of charms, then waited, holding his breath. When nothing happened, he cracked one eye open and stared at the small pendant. It still looked the same.

That is, until he picked it up. It slowly turned a deep red. George's hand closed around the butterfly and he snatched up the chart Ron had found in some dodgy London shop. 'Anxious,' he murmured. 'Yeah, that about sums it up…'

'Well?' Ron asked curiously, poking his head through the curtains.

'It works.'

Ron held out a hand and George tipped the butterfly into his brother's palm. They both watched fascinated as it slowly faded back to its normal dull silvery hue, then brightened to the yellow-green of early spring. 'Blimey,' Ron breathed. 'It works is an understatement.'

'According to this rubbish, it means you're hopeful,' George supplied, waving the chart in Ron’s face.

'How does it work?'

George scribbled a few things in his notebook. 'A charm to measure temperature, one to measure the pulse rate, and finally, one that changes colors according to the temperature. That's the complicated one.'

'How long does the charm last?' Ron wondered.

'Couple months, I guess,' George mused.

'Long enough for them to be wildly popular, cause lots of fights at school, then fade mercifully away into memory,' Ron pronounced.

George snorted. 'If you'd had something like this in your sixth year, you'd have known better than to get involved with that one girl you were snogging at all hours. Or at least she would have known you weren't really into it and broken things off before they got nasty,' he told Ron loftily.

'So where are we getting the trinkets to charm, then?' Ron asked, trying to deflect attention from his past foibles.

'Madam Malkin. She's got loads of stuff like this that doesn't move very fast. So she agreed to sell it to us at cost.'

'Is it just things like pendants, or does she have other things?' Ron poked through a box on the table next to George.

'Rings and earrings mostly.' George closed the notebook and tossed it on a shelf. 'Things cleaned up in the front?'

'Yeah. David and Sasha have gone home, and the front's been restocked, dusted, swept, and ready to open tomorrow.'

'Lovely,' George murmured. He reached into the open box and pulled out a handful of various trinkets. 'Look, tell Mum I'll be here late. I want to have enough of these mood thingies done before we open tomorrow so you can get the window display done.'

'I'll stay. What are the incantations?' Ron pulled his wand from his pocket.

'No. You go ahead and go home. I kind of want to be alone just now.'

Inexplicably stung, Ron pushed his wand back into his pocket. 'Yeah, all right.'

George heard the tone and glanced up from where he sorted the trinkets into pendants, earrings, and rings. 'It's got nothing to do with you,' he said quietly. 'I just don't want to be around people right now.'

'Are you all right?' Ron asked worriedly. 'You've been a bit off-color for a month now.' Ron gazed contemplatively at George, then amended, 'Well, a bit more off-color than usual.'

'I'm fine,' George murmured.

Ron frowned a little, but hung his robes on the hook by the door. 'Right. Well, I'll see you at home, then.'

* * *

Ron peered into Bill's old room. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, listening to Teddy's early-morning chatter. Teddy screeched in pleasure when he saw Ron and grabbed the rails of the cot, hauling himself to a wobbly standing pose, bouncing with glee. Ron reached in and gingerly lifted Teddy out. 'Morning,' he said fuzzily, still not quite awake. He took another look at Harry and shook his head. 'When are you going to replace those things?' he asked, indicating the large glasses Harry still wore.

'When I can convince one of you to take me into London,' Harry retorted, following Ron and Teddy down the stairs. He watched in amusement as Ron held Teddy slightly away from him. 'He's not going to explode, you know.'

Ron grunted and set Teddy on the floor. 'Go find Grannie Molly,' he told him, and Teddy sped off to the kitchen on his hands and knees. 'I still have nightmares about the night he spewed those strained peas down the back of my shirt,' he told Harry.

'That was rather disgusting,' Harry agreed, entering the warm kitchen, and taking his place next to Ron at the table.

Molly dished porridge into a bowl and set it in front of Ron. 'Is George up yet?' she asked.

'Dunno.' Ron sprinkled sugar over the porridge and nearly drowned it in milk. 'Bedroom door was still closed when I came down.'

Harry picked up the teapot. 'I didn't hear him come down earlier.' He poured a cup for himself and set it down, pushing it toward Ron, then picked up a small bowl of porridge and a spoon. He stirred it a few times and tested the temperature before offering a bite to Teddy. 'Someone was awake at six,' he said pointedly to the baby who merely ate the porridge and opened his mouth for more.

'Arthur!' Molly called. 'Can you see if George is awake yet?'

Arthur paused midway down the last flight of stairs, and turned around, retreating to the second floor. He knocked on the door of Percy's old bedroom. 'George?' There was no answer. Arthur knocked again, and repeated, 'George?' He waited a few moments, then opened the door. The bed was neatly made with no sign of George having slept in it last night. Mystified, he hesitantly opened the door of the twins' old bedroom, but judging from the layer of dust on the floor and surfaces of the furniture, nobody had gone in to even tidy it since before the battle last spring. Arthur gently closed the door against the sight of the two beds set against opposite walls. He went to the door of the kitchen. 'Molly.' He beckoned for her to join him. As she came out of the kitchen, Arthur closed the door behind her. 'I don't think George came home last night,' he said quietly.

Molly paled visibly but her voice was steady. 'We'll send Ron to the shop,' she said quickly. 'I'll go down into the village, and you can go to… To the…' Her throat closed around the word, but Arthur understood. He strode into the kitchen, and grabbed a piece of toast.

'Ron, would you mind heading down to the shop?,' he asked. ‘George didn’t come home last night,’ he added.

'But I haven't finished my breakfast…' Ron began in protest that died when he saw the expression on his father's face. 'Right.' He pushed his chair away from the table, and grabbed his coat from the hook in the scullery. 'What should I do if George isn't there?'

'Just stay there.' Arthur replied, running his hand through his thinning hair.

'Should I open?' Ron asked tentatively.

'Use your judgment, son.'

Ron nodded, and ran into the back garden, pulling the coat over his arms, as he walked down the back garden to their Apparition point.

Harry stood up, his wand already out. 'Where should I go?'

'Harry, you need to stay here,' Arthur said gently.

'But I'm fine!' Harry protested. 'I haven't had a dizzy spell yet this morning!'

'You also haven't been cleared to Floo or Apparate by yourself yet,' Arthur said sternly. 'And someone needs to stay here, in case George comes home, or someone else brings word of him.' Arthur grabbed his and Molly's cloaks from the scullery and returned to the sitting room. Presently, Harry could see Arthur trudging across the snow-crusted lane, in the direction of the cemetery.

Harry sighed and dropped back into the chair. 'It's just you and me, then,' he said to Teddy.

* * *

'Oi! Charlie!'

Charlie looked up from the Welsh Green hatchling he was feeding. 'What?'

Adam Rollins, the shift supervisor in the hatchery, jerked his head toward the door. 'Bloke says he's your brother.'

Charlie looked at the door and nearly dropped the bottle of chicken blood and brandy. 'Yeah.' He continued to feed the small dragon until it let the bottle fall from its mouth and belched in repletion, a small spark drifting from its throat. ' _ Scourgify _ ,' he murmured, pointing his wand at the bottle. He replaced it on the rack by the door and turned to George. Saying nothing, he gestured to the door and led George across the valley to his cabin. 'Look done in,' he commented.

'Yeah.'

'Bathroom's through there,' Charlie said, pointing to a door. 'Go have a wash, and I'll put something together for breakfast.'

'Okay.' Charlie leaned against the counter in his tiny kitchen, waiting for the bathroom door to close, then pushed himself off the counter. He crossed the sitting room to the large fireplace and dug into the flower pot on the mantle and threw a handful of Floo powder into the low flames. Charlie wearily lowered himself to the floor and eased his head into the emerald flames. 'Mum? Dad?'

'Charlie?' Harry fell forward off the sofa.

'Where are Mum and Dad?'

'Out looking for George.'

'Yeah… Well, he's here.'

'What's he doing in Wales?'

'Dunno. Look, just tell Mum and Dad he's here, and I'll have him call them later.'

'Yeah, all right.'

Charlie glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the bathroom door opening and yanked his head from the fire. He slid back into the kitchen, just as George appeared in the doorway. 'Eggs all right for you?' he asked casually, opening a cupboard charmed to stay cool and pulled out a bowl of eggs.

'You can cook?' George blurted.

Charlie smiled a little, and began to crack eggs into another bowl. 'Yes. Just have to do it by hand. It's usually a shambles if I try to do it with magic.' He beat the eggs for a few minutes, then flicked his wand at another cupboard. A battered frying pan landed on the stove. 'Turn that on, will you?'

George reached for the dial and twisted it slowly. 'That all right?'

'Yeah.' Charlie dropped a pat of butter into the pan and watched it melt, then poured the eggs into it.

George gazed at Charlie, placidly stirring eggs in the pan, then burst out, 'Well?'

'Well what?' Charlie reached for a loaf of bread and passed it to George. 'Make yourself useful and make some toast.'

'Aren't you going to bombard me with questions about why I showed up on your doorstep with no warning?'

'Imagine you've got your reasons,' Charlie murmured, grabbing two plates from the cupboard over his head and spooning eggs onto each plate. 'How's that toast coming along?'

'Oh…' Flustered, George jabbed his wand at the bread and several slices flew off browning as they flew through the air.

Charlie handed a plate to George and nodded to the small table in the corner. 'I'm going to have a kip in a bit. You can go anywhere you want on the reserve, except the restricted areas. Wireless is by the sofa. Village is down the road a bit. Afraid I haven't got much in the way of reading material, though.'

'That's all right,' George said quickly.

'I'm off today and tomorrow, and I've got the overnight shift next week,' Charlie said.

'Okay…'

'Just means I won't be here at night and usually sleep when I get home.' He nudged George a little. 'No testing out new products while I'm sleeping, all right?'

'That won't be an issue,' George muttered.

Charlie shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth and stood up. 'Right. I'll see you in a couple of hours, then.' He dropped the plate into the sink and ambled to his bedroom, leaving George alone with his untouched breakfast.

* * *

Ron poked at a sandwich with disinterest. 'Why would he just take off like that?'

Harry looked up from the large wooden blocks he was using to build a castle for Teddy's stuffed dragon. 'If I'd had somewhere to go last May, I would have done a bunk myself,' he said casually.

'But why?'

Harry gave Ron a severe look over the tops of his glasses. 'Just to get away from it all,' he said. 'To get away from everything that reminds you of things.'

'You did,' Ron retorted. 'Maybe you didn't leave physically, but…'

'Yeah…'

Arthur strolled into the sitting room. 'Teddy down for the evening?' he asked.

'Molly's giving him a bath now,' Harry said.

'Come on, then. I've got something to show you.'

Frowning, Harry scrambled to his feet and followed Arthur to the shed in the back garden. Arthur flicked his wand at the lamp overhead and stood proudly next to a bulky object covered with a tarp. 'What's that?'

With a flourish that rivaled any Muggle magician, Arthur pulled off the tarp to reveal Sirius' old motorbike. 'Hagrid brought it down while you were in Ireland.'

'Been keeping it for a sunny day?' Harry quipped.

'Well, tinkering with it'll give you something to do during the day, if you don't want to bang around the house with Molly.'

'I don't know anything about motorbikes,' Harry admitted, running a reverent hand over the handlebars.

'Ah! I can help with that.' Arthur pulled out a stack of old manuals. 'I got them summer before last when I was modifying it.' Arthur perched on the workbench. 'I know it bothered you to be left behind this morning.'

Harry picked up one of the manuals and began to page through it. 'Yeah,' he replied, not bothering to try and put up a token protest. He knew Arthur would see straight through it.

'Bit galling, isn't it?' Arthur began, sorting through a box of tools. 'After everything you've done to have to stay behind and do nothing.'

'Yeah.'

'It's a good thing you were here when Charlie called this morning,' Arthur continued. 'Molly would have demanded George come home immediately.' Arthur shrugged. 'She means well…' He pulled out a rag and began to polish a spanner. 'Whatever George needs to sort out, he wasn't going to do it here.'

* * *

George rummaged through the small bag he'd brought with him. His fingers brushed over soft leather, and he pulled out the book he'd inadvertently taken from Katie on New Year's Eve. He opened the book, and a small scrap of scarlet hued ribbon fell from between the pages. He fingered it, gently avoiding the frayed edges. Sometimes, she'd worn such a ribbon on the end of her plait or around her ponytail at school.

He looked at the place the ribbon had marked. It was splattered with what looked like a tea stain. He felt a flush creep up his neck, and recognized one of the poems he'd read to Katie the most. George let his head fall back against the back of the sofa and he could see the small, dim room in St. Mungo's where Katie lay in the bed, unmoving and unresponsive. 'Sod it,' he muttered, setting the book aside. It brought up too many memories he didn't want to think about right now. He glanced around the sitting room and his eyes lit on the neat row of sketch books in Charlie's otherwise empty bookcase. Curiously, he slid off the sofa and grabbed one of the books.

George paged through it, and dropped the book in shock, looking over his shoulder. Assured he was alone, George looked back down at penciled sketch. He would have been the first to admit he'd often fantasized about what Tonks would have looked like without her kit on, but he'd never dreamed she would have actually looked anything like the drawing that he now stared at, unable to tear his eyes away. 'Bloody hell,' he breathed appreciatively. George turned and gazed speculatively at Charlie's closed bedroom door. George turned more pages, whistling under his breath. He pulled another sketch book off the shelf, then another, leafing through them, impressed with the amount of detail Charlie put into a simple sketch. Each drawing held the date in the lower right corner, and as the years passed, Tonks no longer featured quite so prominently in Charlie's sketches, but the others had been done with an amount of loving detail that George only saw in the ones Charlie had done of their family.

'What are you doing?' Charlie hissed, flushing dully under his freckles. He stumbled across the floor, and gathered the sketch books in his arms. 'Those are private!'

'Then why are they out where anyone can see them?' George countered.

Charlie dumped the books on the kitchen table and spun around to face George. 'Why does everyone in this family need to poke their nose into everyone else's private life?' he grumbled, heading for the kitchen. George heard him bang a teakettle on the counter and stayed sitting on the floor. 'D'you want some tea?' Charlie called.

'I guess…' George replied. He pushed himself to his feet and followed Charlie into the kitchen. Charlie spooned tea leaves into an old, chipped brown teapot and poured the boiling water over them. 'Did you love her?' he asked abruptly.

Charlie sighed heavily and pulled two large mugs from the cupboard overhead. He didn't need to ask George to clarify the "her" of his question. 'I thought I did,' he confessed, pouring tea into each of the mugs, and handing one to his younger brother. 'But it was too easy to leave.'

'What do you mean?'

'When I left school,' Charlie added. 'It wasn't like I just forgot about her or anything. But when I got to Romania and started working, I didn't picture coming back here to be with her or Tonks moving down to Romania to be with me. We were still friends, of course, but that was it.' He left the kitchen, and grabbed his latest sketch book from the table and settled on the sofa. He pulled out a small stick of charcoal and began to lightly draw George leaning against the counter, cradling his mug of tea. 'You need to call Mum and Dad,' he said. 'Let them know you're all right.'

'I will. Later.'

'You didn't tell them you were coming, did you?' Charlie asked, even though he knew perfectly well George hadn't breathed a word to anyone at home.

'I left a note,' George said defensively.

'Where someone could see it?' Charlie scoffed.

'Sort of…'

'Go call them. Now.'

'Fine.' George trudged reluctantly to the fireplace. Charlie got up from the sofa under the pretense of needing the loo, leaving George to speak to their parents in private. He could hear George's voice over the crackle of the flames. 'No, Mum, I'm fine,' George insisted. 'I dunno. A couple of days… I did leave a note! Yes, Mum, I did… It was on my pillow… I'll be home next week, Mum… I just need to think some things over, Dad,' George sighed. 'No, Mum, I can't do it at home.' Charlie fancied he could practically hear George grind his teeth in an effort not to snap at Molly. 'All right, then. Goodbye…'

Charlie made a production of flushing the toilet and washing his hands before he ventured back out into the sitting room. He plopped onto the sofa and picked up his abandoned sketch book. 'How are things with the shop?' he asked.

'Fine.'

'Yeah?'

'Fred wouldn't recognize it,' George mused.

'Is that so bad?'

'Well, the shop was his idea,' George said quietly.

Charlie kept his attention on the sketch blossoming under his charcoal. 'Doesn't mean you can't have your own thoughts about what to do with the shop.'

'Yeah, well, Fred would have had loads of new ideas by now,' George muttered mulishly. 'And everything I think about ends up in the dustbin.'

'So?'

'Means Fred was so much better at it, doesn't it?' George spat.

'You mean to tell me you haven't had a new idea at all in the past eight months?' Charlie asked askance.

'Of course not!' George responded, stung. 'But getting it from an idea to an actual product was Fred's specialty.'

Charlie's eyes followed the line of his charcoal. 'I know everyone's got their own timetable for getting on with things, but you have to learn to live without Fred,' he murmured.

'Why does everyone keep telling me that?' George snarled.

'Because it's true,' Charlie retorted. 'If you keep thinking about how much better Fred would have done things, you're never going to get better at it.' He rubbed a fingertip over the line of George's jaw in the sketch book. 'You're going to spend the rest of your life living under his shadow.'

George's mouth closed and he stared into the fire.


	41. Bordering on Attainable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur looked up at Harry, who was furiously blushing, then craned his head around him just in time to see the witch walk into the lift. 'Hm. The witch that does my glasses reminds me of my aunt Hilda,' he commented mildly. 'And she's never asked me out, either.'
> 
> 'I didn't do anything!' Harry said defensively.
> 
> Arthur chuckled, as he tossed the magazine aside and got to his feet. 'You're not dead, Harry,' he said. 'It's perfectly acceptable to notice a pretty woman.' He patted Harry firmly on the back. 'Just don't do it in front of Ginny, eh?'
> 
> Harry cleared his throat and cut a quick glance at Arthur. 'So, you think she's pretty?' he asked with forced casualness.
> 
> Arthur laughed outright and squeezed Harry's shoulder. 'I'm not dead, either, son.'

Harry perched on the edge of the table in the examination room in Leighton's office. He shivered a little, staring at a chart of the human skeletal system. He'd already been waiting for twenty minutes and the delay was starting to grate on his nerves. He noticed he'd been somewhat more irritable than usual since the explosion. He initially thought it was due to his enforced inactivity immediately after he'd been discharged from the hospital, but as he was able to do more, Harry found small things still disproportionately annoyed him. Like not being able to find the instructions to repair the gearbox of the motorbike in the manual right away. Or dropping a spanner on his toes. Harry had been so irate at that, he'd chucked the spanner across the shed and then had to spend nearly an hour poking through Arthur’s rubbish looking for it. 'Why does it have to be so damn cold in here?' he grumbled, pulling his hands inside his jumper.

'I ask myself that every day,' Leighton said, as he walked through the door, after perfunctorily knocking. He spread Harry's chart on a counter and began firing questions toward his patient. 'Any dizziness?'

'Some. Especially if I'm tired.'

'Blurred vision?'

'With or without the glasses?' Harry shot back.

'With,' Leighton said dryly.

'No.'

'Fatigue?'

'No.'

'Nausea?'

'No…'

'Impaired physical coordination?'

'Sometimes.'

'How often?'

Harry sighed gustily. 'The last time was… three? No, four days ago.'

'And how long was it after the last time you had difficulty walking?'

'Couple of days…'

'Any difficult concentrating or amnesia?

'It's a little hard to focus on something for an extended period of time…' Harry said, beginning to worry.

'Define "extended period of time".' Leighton cocked en eyebrow at Harry, long familiar with the way Aurors tended to hold an exaggerated view of things.

'More than a couple of hours,' Harry said with a shrug.

'Increased irritability or aggression?'

Harry's lips thinned. 'Yes,' he said, clenching his teeth.

Leighton merely nodded and continued to make a few notes in Harry's chart. 'Very good,' he murmured, lighting his wand and shining the light briefly into each of Harry's eyes, making approving noises.

'Is this going to keep me from working?' Harry asked anxiously.

'Not in the long term, no. Unless you intend for this to be a regular occurrence,' Leighton said.

'No.'

'Concussion takes a bit of time to heal completely. You're doing well, all things considered. I won't clear you to go back to work or testify at the trials until then.'

'And how much longer will that be?' Harry asked nervously.

'Depends. Could be a couple more weeks. Could be another month. Just takes time.' Leighton set the quill down and gazed at Harry. 'Well, since you're not experiencing blurred vision, what do you say to tossing those things into the dustbin?' he suggested, indicating the large glasses on Harry's face.

'I'd love to.' Harry slid off the table and followed Leighton to a doorway that opened into a dim staircase. 'Could I get two pairs? Have a spare?'

'Of course. I'm surprised you didn't have one before.'

'Yeah, well…' Harry jammed his hands into his pockets, thinking of the fuss Vernon or Petunia would have raised had anybody ever suggested Harry ought to have a spare pair of glasses. 'Didn't think about it before.'

Leighton noted the edge in Harry's voice and wisely let the subject drop. He climbed several flights of stairs and opened a door into a bright, airy room. 'I want to see you again in a week. Sooner if any of your symptoms get worse. And you're still restricted on travel. No Flooing or Apparating by yourself. If your physical coordination improves by your next visit, I'll reconsider it.'

'Fine.' Harry slipped through the door and blinked, the bright light making his eyes water after the dark staircase. He walked around the room, peering at the selections. They ranged from the somewhat old-fashioned horn-rimmed frames favored by Arthur and Percy to round wire-rimmed frames Harry and his father preferred. Harry plucked a pair of frames off a rack that resembled his old ones, but were smaller. He tried to hold them up to his face, but the larger ones hindered his view. Growling in frustration, he yanked the replacements off and leaned so close to the small mirror, his nose nearly smudged it.

'Those'll look smashing,' a witch said admiringly behind Harry.

Startled, Harry turned around. 'You think so?'

'Don't mean to be pushy, but these will look better.' She pulled the round frames from Harry's face and set a different pair on his nose. 'Have a look at that, then.'

Harry turned back to the mirror and squinted. 'Would never have picked these,' he murmured. The oblong frames did make him look less like a little boy trying to look older, giving him a more mature look. 'I'll take them.'

The witch took Harry's replacement glasses and tugged the new frames from his face. 'Be back with these in five minutes.'

'Erm… yeah…' Harry squeezed his eyes shut then opened them. 'Could I get two pairs?' he called after her.

'Sure thing,' she replied over her shoulder. 'See you in a mo.'

Harry groped short-sightedly for a chair and dropped into the first one his hand landed on. 'Ow!' said a disgruntled voice.

Harry sprang from the chair and gaped in shock at the wizened witch glaring at him. 'Oh… Sorry… Didn't see you…' he stammered in apology.

'Hmph!' she sniffed. 'No respect from the younger generations,' she grumbled, settling her large handbag more firmly on her lap.

Harry rolled his eyes and moved down a few chairs and perched in an empty one. Muted music played on a large, ornate wireless in the corner. It was the sickly sweet instrumental kind of music that made his teeth ache. Presently, the old witch's name was called and she shuffled off to collect her glasses and left, throwing a baleful glare at Harry as she stumped out of the door. Harry crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed. It felt as if more than five minutes had passed.

'Here you are Mr. Potter!' the witch trilled. She carefully slid one of the new pairs of glasses over his nose. 'How is that?'

Harry blinked and the witch swam into focus. She was stunningly beautiful. Glossy dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes were surrounded by thick, sooty lashes. 'Brilliant…' he breathed.

She smiled and pressed a small carrier bag into his hands. 'Your spare glasses are in there, along with a case for those,' she told him, adjusting the frames slightly.

'Yeah, thanks.' Harry watched her walk off and slipped his coat from his shoulders. He held it in front of him and carefully stood up.

'If you'll come with me, Mr. Potter, there's a lift that will take you back down to the reception area,' the witch said cheerfully.

Harry gulped. 'Right.' He followed the witch, carefully keeping his eyes trained on the back of her head. She was waiting for him in the lift by the time he managed to make it through the doors. The witch punched a button for the ground floor and grinned at Harry.

'So do you have plans for this weekend?' she asked.

'Erm… Sort of.'

She turned to him and toyed with the pendant of her necklace that rested in an expanse of bare skin, exposed by the deep V-neck of her robes. 'My girlfriends and I are going to a club for a bit of dancing Saturday night. Want to come with?'

The carrier bag rustled at Harry gripped it tightly. 'Erm… I…' Thankfully the doors opened and Harry darted out of the lift to where Arthur sat, paging through a ragged magazine. 'Okay, I'm done,' he mumbled to Arthur.

'Harry!' The witch tucked a scrap of parchment into his shirt pocket. 'In case you change your mind.'

Arthur looked up at Harry, who was furiously blushing, then craned his head around him just in time to see the witch walk into the lift. 'Hm. The witch that does my glasses reminds me of my aunt Hilda,' he commented mildly. 'And she's never asked me out, either.'

'I didn't do anything!' Harry said defensively.

Arthur chuckled, as he tossed the magazine aside and got to his feet. 'You're not dead, Harry,' he said. 'It's perfectly acceptable to notice a pretty woman.' He patted Harry firmly on the back. 'Just don't do it in front of Ginny, eh?'

Harry cleared his throat and cut a quick glance at Arthur. 'So, you think she's pretty?' he asked with forced casualness.

Arthur laughed outright and squeezed Harry's shoulder. 'I'm not dead, either, son.' He led Harry out to the street. 'Do you want to go back to the Burrow, to the Ministry, or to Diagon Alley?'

Harry inhaled deeply, grateful for the cold crisp air. 'I think I'd like to stretch my legs a bit,' he allowed. When Arthur looked at him doubtfully, he added, 'I am allowed to use the Underground by myself.' Arthur's expression still didn't clear. 'I'll meet you in the Ministry atrium at five.' Arthur's eyes narrowed. 'Arthur, please…' Harry begged. 'I just need a few hours to myself.'

'All right,' Arthur said reluctantly. 'If you start to feel iffy, you get a message to me and I'll come fetch you.'

Harry nodded assent, and checked his coat pockets for Muggle money. 'Thanks.' He headed for the Underground station and got on the first train that arrived at the platform.

* * *

Harry dodged a line of chattering schoolchildren making their way into the aquarium as he left. He stood in the middle of the walkway, chewing his lip thoughtfully, an island in an eddy of people. The reptile house was just on the other side. Grinning slightly to himself, he crossed the walk and headed into the dim, humid interior.

Harry drifted from exhibit to exhibit, wondering what ever became of the boa constrictor he'd inadvertently freed nearly eight years ago from the zoo in Surrey. Had he actually made it to Brazil? Harry hoped so. He'd quite enjoyed the congenial conversation with the snake, but it also reminded him snakes in of themselves weren't the embodiment of evil, as he'd come to see so often the past few years.

There was a large python drowsily curled up in its enclosure. Harry leaned closer to the glass, so that his breath misted over it. 'Must get boring in there,' he commented. The snake remained still and silent. Harry frowned. 'Must not be in a chatty mood today,' he sighed. He continued on, making a slow circuit around the reptile house, stopping occasionally to speak to the livelier snakes.

None of them ever replied.

 _Am I actually speaking Parseltongue?_ , he wondered. He didn't know. When he'd spoken or heard Parseltongue, it didn't sound much different than English to his ears most of the time. There were very few instances where he heard what everyone else surely had. With a last thoughtful glance at the snakes, Harry left the reptile house and trudged toward a kiosk for something warm to drink. Cradling a paper cup of tea between his hands, he found a bench in a sunny spot and sat down with his feet stretched out in front of him. Not being able to distinguish between English and Parseltongue had nearly gotten both him and Hermione killed on that Christmas Eve they'd encountered Nagini hiding inside Bathilda Bagshot's body. And while the chances of anyone else ever making a Horcrux out of a snake were slim to none, not being able to detect English from Parseltongue was a serious liability.

Finished with his tea, Harry got to his feet and made his way to the exit.

* * *

Harry reached across Ron for his toothbrush and squirted a blob of toothpaste on to it. He started to brush his teeth, staring sightlessly at the taps on the sink. 'All right?' Ron asked, nudging Harry.

'Do you notice other girls?' Harry asked. 'Besides Hermione?'

Ron choked and leaned forward, spitting toothpaste into the sink. 'What?' he wheezed, his eyes watering.

'Girl walks by, and she's got a nice bum…' Harry mumbled. 'You look?'

'Well, yeah. It's not like Hermione doesn't look at other blokes,' Ron reasoned, poking his toothbrush back into his mouth. 'Remember how she got all moony over the Defense professor last November when we went to see her and Gin in Hogsmeade?'

'Yeah.'

'Well…' Ron cupped his hand under the faucet and slurped up mouthful of water, swishing it around for a moment, then spitting it out into the sink. 'As long as she doesn't touch and it's my name she says when we're…' Ron made a vague gesture. 'You know…' He shrugged nonchalantly. 'She can look all she wants.'

Harry aped Ron's actions, cupping his hand under the faucet and rinsing his mouth. 'What about you?'

'What about me?'

Harry wiped his mouth on a towel and dropped his toothbrush in its glass. He went to the open bathroom door and peeked out onto the landing. Satisfied it was deserted, he closed the door and put a Silencing charm on it. 'Let's say you see that girl with the nice bum, does it make you… Well…' He felt a flush crawl up the back of his neck and spread over his face. 'Tingly?' he mumbled.

'Yeah.' Ron lifted the charm and opened the bathroom door. 'Makes you miss your school robes, doesn't it?'

'Just a bit.'

* * *

Charlie walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He didn't have to be at work until midnight and it was only six in the evening. George had disappeared sometime earlier around noon. As quiet as George tried to be during the day, he couldn't quite manage not to let the front door of the cabin slam shut. It wasn't really his fault – the door had a tendency to slam as it was, and Charlie hadn't gotten around to putting a Cushioning charm on the door, seeing as he was the only one who ever used it on a regular basis.

He headed into the kitchen for a glass of water and was greeted by a scrap of parchment stuck to the cupboard door with a weak Sticking charm.

_Dinner at the pub in the village. My treat. Does seven work for you?_

Charlie shook his head as he filled a glass. 'I suppose seven will have to work for me,' he said to the empty kitchen, hitching up his boxers. He drained the glass and set it in the sink, then returned to his bedroom and quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and his latest Christmas jumper. He smiled a little as he donned it, the slightly acrid scent of the Fireproofing charm Molly put on the yarn drifting into his nose. It was the only presentable one he had. The others were pockmarked with burns. 'I really ought to get some decent clothes,' he murmured. Most of his clothes bore the marks of his job's hazardous nature, so he rarely bothered to replace anything, and only bought anything new when something was damaged beyond repair. He shoved his feet into the bulky dragon hide boots and strapped his watch on his wrist.

Checking the time on his watch, Charlie realized he had some time to kill and wandered back into the sitting room. George's bag slumped next to the sofa and the blue leather-bound book balanced precariously on the back of it. Curiously, Charlie grabbed the book and lowered himself to the sofa, flipping through the book. He stopped every so often, skimming the poem on the page, one auburn eyebrow rising slightly at the rather erotic nature of some of the poems. Frowning, he turned to the flyleaf, searching for a clue as to who had given George such a book.

_18 April 1997_

_To Katie – Happy birthday. Love, George_

'Fascinating,' Charlie murmured. He supposed George hadn't needed to write anything else in the inscription. The book itself was all he needed. But it made him wonder: had George never given this Katie the book at all? He stood and grabbed his coat from a hook by the door, and slipped it on, sliding the book into a pocket and left the cabin to meet George.

By the time Charlie managed to slog his way through the snow to the pub, George was already ensconced in a tiny booth in a corner, a half-full glass in front of him. Charlie went to the bar and ordered a drink for himself and wound his way through the crowd to the booth, nodding at George by way of a greeting.

George set his glass down and gestured with his chin to a spot across the room. 'Who's that?'

Charlie followed his gaze and quickly spun around. 'Healer for the reserve,' he replied, gulping his bitter.

'What'd you do to her?'

'What makes you think I did something?' Charlie huffed, consulting the small, stained menu card on the table.

'Because she's been glaring daggers at you since you walked in the door,' George responded promptly.

Charlie sighed and set the card down. 'I haven't a clue,' he said. 'She's been annoyed with me for almost a month and I have no idea what I said or did.'

'Blimey,' George said mildly.

'Women,' Charlie snorted. He shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. He regarded George with a bit of consternation. They hadn't talked much since last Saturday evening, beyond ordinary things. 'So, I know I was pretty harsh with you when you got here.'

'Yeah.'

'I'm not sorry,' Charlie said shortly. 'But you're the one who gets to decide if you're going to continue to live in your grief or not. Just because Fred's gone, it doesn't mean you can't keep the shop going or take it in a different direction. Or ask other people for help. Think about it, yeah? What would be a bigger disservice to Fred – letting it all fall apart or keeping the dream going, even if it isn't entirely what he envisioned?'

'Yeah…' George shifted a few times. 'The one good thing about this place… Lots of quiet to think over things. Thanks for letting me stay and not insisting I go home right away.'

'You're my brother, George. It wasn't a problem.'

George picked at the corner of the menu. 'Yeah, well… Bill would have glared and rumbled disapprovingly and Percy would have lectured me until gravity yanked the pole out of his arse.'

Charlie grinned. 'Thanks.' He signaled to a passing barman. 'Bangers and mash for me,' he said. 'And whatever he wants,' he added, pointing to George.

'Pie and mash, please.'

As the barman left, Charlie rummaged in his coat pocket. He pushed the book across the table. 'Who's Katie?'

George snatched the book from the table and glowered at Charlie. 'Friend,' he mumbled. 'Remember that blonde girl with me at Ginny's birthday last summer?' Charlie nodded. 'That's her.'

'Did you ever give her the book?' Charlie was highly aware of the irony, considering he'd made a fuss about George looking through his sketch books.

'Yeah. I sent it to her for her birthday two years ago.'

Charlie coughed, choking on a swallow of his drink. 'Were you trying to get into her knickers or something?' he asked incredulously.

'No, of course not!' George gasped.

Charlie gave him a skeptical look. 'Really?'

'Not that I haven't thought about it,' George admitted. 'But she doesn't want me.'

'I find that hard to believe.'

'She said three people in a relationship were a little hard to take.'

'She sounds like a wise girl.'

George waited while the barman delivered their meals, and picked up his fork. 'She has her moments.'

Charlie ran the tines of his fork through the mound of mashed potatoes on his plate. 'Was it hard to leave her?' George picked at his dinner and didn't reply, so Charlie thought he hadn't heard him. He repeated, 'Was it hard to –'

'Yes,' George said in a low voice, barely audible in the bustling pub. 'Yes, it was.'

* * *

George waited for Charlie to get home from work, his toes tapping a nervous tattoo on the floor. He did want to leave without saying goodbye. The door creaked open, admitting a drained Charlie. 'Heading off?' he asked wearily.

'Yeah.' George played with the strap of his bag.

Charlie dropped to the sofa next to his brother. 'Scared?'

'A little.'

Charlie nodded and ruffled George's hair. 'Dealing with family's much more terrifying than facing a dragon.'

'Is that why you stay away?'

'We're not talking about me,' Charlie muttered. 'We're talking about you.' He draped an arm around George's tense shoulders. 'It'll be all right. Dad doesn't pry too much and once Mum gets the fussing out of her system, she'll be fine.'

'It's not Mum and Dad I'm worried about,' George said pensively. 'It's Ron…'

'Ah.' Charlie understood what worried George so much. Ron felt the most casual slights from his brothers as if they cut him to the core. 'I'd go with groveling. If you do keep the shop going, get him involved with it more. Maybe you can work with him like you and Fred did. He's not a thick as the two of you seemed to imagine.'

'I've thought about it,' George said slowly.

'Better get on with it, then. Thinking isn't doing you any good.' Charlie pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to George, hauling his younger brother off the sofa. 'What time's your Portkey back to London?'

'Fifteen minutes.'

'Right.' Charlie pulled George into an embrace, hugging him tightly. 'Take care of yourself.'

'Yeah…' George pounded Charlie's a back a few times. 'If you come for lunch on Sundays more, we're not so scary.'

'I'll think about it.' Charlie drew in a shuddering breath and nudged George to the door. 'You're going to miss your Portkey.'

'Bye, Charlie… ' George picked up his bag and ducked out of the cabin.


	42. Waiting for Spring to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I didn't realize it was Nagini speaking and not Bathilda.'
> 
> 'You don't realize when you're hearing Parseltongue?' Ron blurted.
> 
> Harry shook his head. 'Sounds like English to me most of the time. Like when I set that boa constrictor free. The only time I've ever really heard myself speak it was our second year in Myrtle's bathroom,' he added, with a significant look at Ron. He continued to stare at Ron, his brows knit. 'And when you and Hermione came out of the Chamber with basilisk fangs and you said something close enough to get the entrance to open,' he said slowly. 'The thing is, when I was at the zoo, I went to the reptile house.'
> 
> 'Yeah, 'cause that's the first place I'd go,' Ron drawled.
> 
> 'I started talking to this snake. And nothing. Went round to all the others and it was like none of them understood I word I said.'

George let himself in the shop and quietly shut the door, as if he'd disturb a slumbering baby otherwise. He dropped his bag behind the counter and stood for a moment, inhaling the scents of the shop. Scents he hadn't realized he missed while he was in Wales. Not until he let them bloom in the back of his throat like they were a fine wine. He leaned against the counter and glanced around the shop. It looked as if Ron had taken care of things very well while George had been hiding. 'And here I thought he worked here because he didn't know what else to do with himself,' George murmured. 'Maybe Charlie's right about Ronnikins after all.'

He reached under the counter for the thick ledger book and flipped the pages back until he found the sales for the week. Nodding in approval, the corner of George's mouth twitched. 'Might have to give him a raise, too.' He flicked his wand at a feather duster and pushed through the curtains to the back. A pile of neatly wrapped parcels bearing the magenta triple W logo sat at one end of the table, ready to be levitated to the post office for delivery. 'Really will have to give him a raise…'

George pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the parcels. They rose gracefully in the air and floated in front of him. He directed them out of the door and down the street and dropped them at the post office, sliding easily into the routine of the shop. On his way back to the shop, he spared a glance for a building to his left. The blank windows stared back at him as his eyes traced up to one he knew to be the one in Katie's sitting room. How long he stood there, George couldn't say, but the flicker of light at a neighboring window made him shake himself and return to the shop.

Ron was standing at the counter, the Gringotts deposit in one hand. He slowly set the money bag on the counter and darted into the back room, returning with a folded piece of parchment that he thrust unceremoniously at George. 'What's that?'

'Just take it,' Ron muttered.

'Not until you tell me what it is.'

'It's not going to explode in your face,' Ron sighed, waggling the parchment a bit.

Frowning, George took the parchment and thumbed it open. His eyes traveled swiftly over Ron's untidy penmanship, face paling under his freckles. He looked up at Ron in disbelief. 'I don't understand…'

'I'm giving you two weeks' notice. I think I can still take a position as an Auror.'

George frowned. 'I didn't think you wanted to be an Auror anymore.'

'I'm resigning,' Ron said heavily, ignoring George's statement.

'B-b-b-but why?'

Ron leaned against the counter, his back to George. 'Because I don't think you really want me here. Regardless of what you and Fred had intended.'

'Why would you say that?'

Ron laughed bitterly. 'Oh, Merlin's sagging bollocks, George. I heard you talking to Katie before Christmas. You're not sure it's going to work out with me, and you're not really sure you want it to. You don't let me help you work on new products, even though you're perfectly fine with me doing it on my own. Even decisions about how the shop is run. You'll let me do something, but you're damned if you'll make any sort of decision _with_ me. I could leave, and it wouldn't make a bit of difference. You could do this with anyone.'

George's mouth dropped open in shock. 'That's not true…' he gasped.

'It is. Then _twice_ you just leave me with all this in my hands, terrified I'm going to cock it up. No explanation, no estimated time you're coming back from wherever it is you've gone. You just left,' Ron hissed, his ears nearly magenta. He roughly pushed himself away from the counter and stalked into the back room. A box built into the wall already held owl orders that had been delivered overnight. He magicked the box open, and Summoned the envelopes.

'I needed to clear my head,' George said defensively.

Ron ripped open an envelope. 'I get that,' he said tightly. 'I did the same thing to Harry,' he muttered.

George snorted. 'Yeah. We know. Triwizard. Got your pants in a knot until you realized he wasn't in there voluntarily.'

'I wasn't talking about that,' Ron grumbled. 'Last year.' He grabbed a handful of Skiving Snackboxes and counted out ten of them. 'I got angry and left.'

George's mouth closed with a _snap_ , taken aback. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were so tight, most people tended to refer to them by one long name: HarryRonandHermione. The idea that one could have left in a snit during one of the most critical, albeit harebrained, schemes those three had managed to cook up between them was surprising.

Ron caught George's expression and hitched a shoulder. 'We had this locket with a bit of V-v-voldemort's soul inside. And until we could find a way to destroy it, we wore it constantly in turns so it didn't get lost,' he said tonelessly. 'Brought back everything you and Fred ever did to me. Magnified every jealous thought I had about Harry or what H-h-hermione might have actually felt. Like it knew what would hurt the most.' Ron's shadowed blue eyes met George's wide dark ones. 'I couldn't take it any more. I don't even remember making a conscious decision to leave, but I tore the locket off and ran out of the tent.' Ron's voice lowered to the point where George had to strain to hear him. 'I ran out into the rain and lost sight of the tent. But I could hear Hermione calling after me. She was crying. And not like when she got upset at school. It was like I _Avada Kedavra_ -ed her puppy or something. I was too ashamed to turn around go back.'

'What did you do?'

Ron's mouth twisted. 'Went to Bill's to hide. He blistered me with the sharp end of his tongue when I showed up. Made my ears ring. Sounded like Mum,' he said ruefully. 'Then he left me alone. And I stayed away longer than a week.' Ron turned back to the parcel on the table. 'So yeah, George, I get it when you need to collect your thoughts. And I know what it means to just skive off without a word to anyone.' He waved his wand at the parcel and brown paper wrapped around it, sealing itself with Sticking charms. 'I could almost justify doing it the one time. But never again.'

The bell over the door belched loudly, making them both jump at the intrusion.

George took a deep breath. 'We'll talk about this later,' he promised.

The day passed with George and Ron carefully avoiding each other. The grey, slushy day kept many people at home and George sent David and Sasha home, much to their relief. The atmosphere in the shop had been decidedly tense since they arrived that morning for their shift. George jabbed his wand at the door, locking it, then flicked his wand toward the sign, flipping it over to the side that read "Closed". He then dimmed most of the lights and glared at Ron. 'Where were we?'

Ron sighed and shucked off his robes. 'I resigned.'

'I don't accept it,' George retorted.

'That's just too damn bad,' Ron muttered.

George raked his hands through his hair, leaving his mangled ear exposed. 'What will it take to make you reconsider?'

'It doesn't matter, because I'm done. Two weeks from today.'

George's lips pressed into a thin line and he reached out and grabbed Ron's arm, and all but dragged him into the back room. Without releasing his brother, George snatched up his stained notebook and threw it on the table. 'There's everything I've tried to do since we reopened,' he said angrily. 'What do you think I should have done differently?' He glared at Ron in fierce challenge.

'Going to make me earn my last Galleons, eh?' Ron's free hand snaked out and opened the notebook, leafing through it. His eyes scanned over the scrawled notes, trying to chip at something stuck to the page with a thumbnail. 'You're rubbish as a cook, George,' he stated. 'What did you get on your Potions O.W.L., anyway?'

'I'd rather not say…'

'It shows,' Ron snorted. 'Bloody hell. If _I_ can earn an Exceeds Expectations, you ought to have done that…' He glanced down at George's hand, still wrapped around his elbow. 'If you'll let go of me, I can show you how to do these new sweets correctly so they don't explode in your face.'

George let go of Ron's arm and Summoned a cauldron to the table. 'All right.'

'Write it down, just like I tell you,' Ron told him. 'And then _follow_ the recipe for Merlin's sake. May not be as good as Hermione at brewing potions, but I can make sure I'm adding the ingredients in the right order.'

'I'll give you a raise,' George pleaded. 'One hundred fifty a week…'

Ron hesitated. It was twice what George paid him now. 'No…'

'Ron, you can't go.' George took a deep breath. 'Give me until the end of the school term,' he said quietly. 'We'll put things down in writing and we can try doing things the way we – Fred and I – used to.'

'And if it doesn't work out?' Ron asked guardedly.

'Then you can resign.'

Ron nodded. 'All right.'

* * *

Ginny hoisted herself into one of the deep windowsills in the common room of Gryffindor tower, settling on a cushion she'd purloined from a pile in the corner. As she pulled her Defense textbook from her bag, Dean casually loped across the room and perched in the armchair next to the window. 'You have a mo?' he asked softly.

Ginny glanced down at her book and shoved it back into her bag. 'Sod it,' she muttered. 'I've been studying nonstop since we got back.'

'I didn't think you were that fussed about your N.E.W.T.s,' Dean observed.

Ginny's shoulder hitched in a half-shrug. 'Well, I'd really hate to be like Willow Riordan.'

Dean's brow furrowed. 'Who?'

'Willow Riordan. She was a Hufflepuff about the same time my parents were here. Much sought-after Seeker by four professional teams. Montrose and Tutshill had a very public battle about who would sign her. She eventually signed with Tutshill, who gave her this enormous bonus, put out this mad publicity campaign featuring her, she was profiled in _Quidditch Quarterly_ , and she was hired to endorse everything from brooms to cosmetics.'

'So how come I've never heard of her?' Dean asked skeptically.

Ginny grinned with an ironic twist to her mouth. 'She played one season. Professional-grade Snitches are much faster than the ones we use here. The game's faster and far more physical. And you have to make decisions on the fly.' She chuckled. 'No pun intended…'

'Of course not,' Dean snorted.

'Well, she didn't adjust to the game very well. Never caught a single Snitch. Tutshill released her at the end of the season, and no other team wanted her. Not even Chudley.'

'Blimey.'

'Yeah. Well, what makes the whole story even more tragic, is that she left school after her sixth year, and never took a single N.E.W.T. She's now in one of those hopelessly inane traveling shows that feature retired Quidditch players doing flying tricks.'

'So what do you think you'll do?' Dean's feet lightly drummed against the side of the armchair.

'Dunno.' Ginny chewed her quill thoughtfully. 'I thought about going into Gringotts,' she began.

'Curse-breaker like your brother, then?'

Ginny shook her head, a slightly diabolical look coming into her eyes. 'No. Set curses,' she said with a hint of glee.

Dean's brow slowly rose. 'You always were one for a well-placed hex,' he said.

'Yeah…' Ginny said dreamily. She looked down at the top of Dean's head. 'So I meant to ask you… How did it go at home over the holiday?'

'It's about bloody time!' Dean huffed in mock-outrage. 'We've only just gotten back at school you know.'

'I'm sorry,' Ginny sighed. 'There was a lot going on when we came back, then there was the incident with Harry, and practice…'

'Right. Because we're not on the team together and don't have any classes together at all,' Dean drawled.

'I really am sorry,' Ginny said contritely.

'You should be.' Dean smirked at her, then laughed softly. 'It's all right. I know you've had a lot going on.' He settled into the chair a bit more. 'So… My holiday, eh?'

'Yeah.'

'It was all right.'

'Just all right?' Ginny asked skeptically.

'It was good,' he confessed. 'Dad seemed a bit nervous at first, but I think he was more afraid I'd start calling him Laurence instead of Dad. Katherine and Charlotte were thrilled to see me. And Mum…' Dean slowly shook his head. 'She was relieved, happy… She cried all over me, until Dad made her let me go. And after Katherine and Charlotte went to bed, the three of us had a bit of a chat about my, erm…' Dean's face scrunched in a grimace of distaste. 'Father.' One of Dean's lanky arms reached out to snag an apple from a bowl sitting on the table next to them. He bit into it, wiping the juice that ran down his chin on his sleeve. Swallowing he added, 'Dad told me if I wanted to go find him, he was all right with it and would help me if I asked.'

'That's generous,' Ginny murmured.

Dean took another bite of the apple and shrugged. 'I suppose. Although, if I were Dad and had the chance to meet the effing berk, I'd probably try and pretend his head was a Bludger…'

'I take it you don't want to try and find him.'

'Nah. Told Mum and Dad I'd rather break my wand than try and find some plonker who didn't want either Mum or me. Better off without him, anyway.'

'What did your Mum have to say about it…?'

'Not much. Seemed a bit upset, though.'

From her perch above Dean, Ginny could see a slight hardening of his jaw. Her experience with Harry's moods made her change the subject to something more neutral. 'What plant did you decide to cultivate for Herbology?' she asked.

Dean's shoulders shifted slightly as he breathed a sigh of relief. 'Got it narrowed down to three,' he told her, shifting smoothly into the new conversation.

* * *

'Are you sure you're all right to go to Hogsmeade, Harry?' Molly asked, sliding sausages onto Harry's empty plate.

'Don't worry, Mum,' Ron said, biting into a sausage. 'If he starts to get peaky, Madam Pomfrey's right there. And she's taken care of Harry loads of times.'

Harry turned to Ron. 'You're not helping.'

'And how do you propose to get to Hogsmeade, then?' Molly continued. 'You can't Floo. And it's an awfully long way to Side-Along someone.'

'Knight Bus,' Ron replied.

'Have you lost your mind?' Molly shrieked.

Ron thoughtfully shook his head a little from side to side. 'No… No, I don't believe I have.' He pulled on an ear and tilted his head to one side, as if he expected something to ooze from his ear. 'No. Still there.'

'You've been around George too much,' Molly sniffed.

'I'm only banned from Flooing or Apparating myself,' Harry said tiredly. 'Not other forms of travel. I'm not chuffed about taking the Knight Bus myself, to be honest, but I promised Ginny I'd come see her.'

Molly took her place at the table and began to eat her breakfast. 'Don't forget to take those parcels to the girls,' she reminded Ron, indicating the two wrapped parcels in the scullery, filled with biscuits and other goodies.

'We won't.' Harry said, picking up a glass of juice. He noticed Molly's scrutiny of his hand. 'I'm fine,' he told her, for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

'Sorry,' Molly murmured, glancing at Harry over the rim of her teacup. 'Habit.'

'Understood.'

Ron picked up his empty plate and set it in the sink. 'Ready?' he asked Harry. Harry nodded and hastily drank the last of his juice as he walked to the sink and set his plate on top of Ron's. They each picked up a parcel and walked out through the front door. Ron held out his wand and in seconds the lurid purple triple-decker bus shot down the lane.

'Welcome t' th' Knight Bus. Transport f'r any witch or wizard t' anywhe'e in Bri'ain.'

Harry's face split into a grin. 'Stan!' he exclaimed.

Stan Shunpike looked down at his passengers. ''Arry Po'er!' he bellowed. 'Eh, Ern, look! It's 'Arry!' He gestured for Ron and Harry to board the bus. ''Ave a seat righ' there,' he told them, pointing to two armchairs. 'Whe'e ye goin', then?'

'Hogsmeade,' Ron said, pulling eleven Sickles from his pocket and handing them to Stan.

'Tha's jus' brill, innit?' Stan said, turning to Harry.

Harry counted out eleven Sickles into Stan's hand. 'I'm really glad to see you're all right.'

Stan stowed their fares into a pouch and took his seat behind the driver. 'Eh, was a bi' odd, then, wasn' it? Sor'uv woke up one day in St. Mungo's and wonnered whe'e th' las' year 'ad gone.' He shrugged. 'Someone tol' me I'd bin unner an Imperius. Got me job back, though.' He leaned forward. 'Oi, Ern, can ye pu' 'Ogsmede on top o' the list, then?'

'After we drop off Madam Marsh…' Ernie Prang grunted over a splattering sound from above. The bus rocketed down the lane and lurched several times, making Ron and Harry tightly grip the arms to their chairs. It came to a stop, and Harry slid out of his chair.

'Not sure this is any better than Apparition,' he said ruefully.

'We'e in Abergavenney, Madam Marsh,' Stan called. The middle-aged witch stumbled from the level above, her seemingly ever-present handkerchief pressed to her mouth and left the bus with a small moan. ''Ogsmeade next.'

'Great,' Ron muttered. 'Can't wait.' He shook his head shut his eyes tightly. 'Can't believe I'm saying this, but Mum was right…' He let go of his chair to press his fingers to his eyes and tumbled to the floor when the bus careened to a stop. He picked himself up and gingerly retrieved Hermione's parcel, squinting at it dubiously. 'Hope she put an enormous Cushioning charm on this…' he sighed. Harry snagged Ginny's parcel and slowly pulled himself to his feet, standing uncertainly for a moment, making Ron worry he'd gone and injured himself again. 'You all right, mate?'

'Yeah. Just making sure I was only dizzy from the ride and not the concussion. Forgotten how… erm… _adventurous_ it can be to ride this…' He followed Ron off the bus with a wave to Stan and watched it lumber away, before disappearing with a loud _crack_. He turned and started for the Three Broomsticks. 'Let's get inside before my bollocks freeze off.' _At least not until I've had a chance to let someone else do something with them_ , he grumbled to himself, wishing it was the last Hogsmeade weekend of the term and he could find a nice, secluded clearing somewhere with Ginny. It was a bit too cold to be snogging outdoors for an extended period of time for his taste.

He opened the door of the pub and was met by a whooping blur that shot from a corner booth. Ginny threw her arms around him, kissing him lustily, which Harry enthusiastically returned. Ginny pulled back a little, making a face at the sounds of disgust Ron was making behind Harry.

' _Must_ you?' Ron grumbled.

'Yes,' Harry murmured against Ginny's mouth before he twined his free hand through her hair and kissed her again.

'People are starting to look,' Ron said, nudging Harry in the back.

'Let them,' Ginny chuckled, her arms wound around Harry's waist as she rose up on her toes.

'A ray of sunshine couldn't get through you two,' Hermione tutted.

Ginny broke away from Harry, flushed and giggling. 'You'd have done the same if you'd gotten to the door first,' Ginny said loftily.

'Now that you've stopped making a spectacle of yourselves…' Hermione gestured to the table and squeezed past Harry and Ginny to Ron. 'Hiya…'

Ron smiled and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. 'Hi…' His fingers slid into her hair and cupped the back of her head. 'Missed you,' he whispered before he gently kissed her. They followed Harry and Ginny to the table and slid into the booth.

'You look so much better than you did the last time I saw you,' Ginny was telling Harry.

'Yeah, I don't look like Buckbeak's chew toy,' Harry laughed.

'I see you've gone a different direction with the glasses,' Hermione observed.

Harry felt his cheeks flush. He grabbed the butterbeer bottle sitting in front of him and took a long pull. 'Erm. Yeah.'

'They look really good,' Hermione commented. 'Pick them out yourself?'

Harry coughed and spluttered. 'Erm… No… Mediwitch helped…'

'Is something wrong?' Ginny asked. 'You look like you're going to be sick…'

'Came on the Knight Bus,' Harry demurred. He'd already burned the slip of parchment from the mediwitch at St. Mungo's, and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to tell Ginny about the incident. Ginny's eyes narrowed slightly, but she let it pass.

'How are you doing since the last time you wrote?' Ginny asked.

'Let's see…' Harry's brow furrowed slightly. 'Haven't been dizzy since last week and have only stumbled on a flat surface once this week. Dropping a spanner still bothers me, but not as much as it was. And I can complete the crossword in the _Prophet_ in the same day.' He picked at the label on the bottle. 'Have to be asymptomatic for two weeks before I'm cleared to go back.'

'Could be March before you get back to work,' Ron piped up.

'Yeah. Almost makes me feel, well… not _sorry_ for the Malfoys, but seeing as it's rather my fault their trial keeps getting pushed back. Makes it a bit hard to get past it and move on with your life.'

Hermione looked at Harry. 'Are you really going to testify on their behalf?' she asked neutrally, but Harry wasn't fooled by it. The corners of her mouth turned down slightly. He glanced around the crowded pub and met Hermione's gaze, then nodded. Her eyes dropped to the surface of the table and her shoulders straightened, a clear sign she disapproved.

'Everyone deserves a fair trial, Hermione,' Harry told her. 'And in the end, they still might end up in prison.' He sipped his butterbeer. 'Besides, being a wanker doesn't automatically qualify one for a life sentence in Azkaban.'

An uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Ginny glanced nervously at Ron before clearing her throat loudly. 'So what do you do with yourself during the day?' she asked Harry.

He shot her a grateful look. 'Went to the London Zoo a couple of weeks ago.'

'Sounds like fun,' Ron said.

'Well, it was, and wasn't,' Harry said slowly. He touched the back of Hermione's hand. 'Remember last Christmas? In Godric's Hollow?'

'How can I forget?' she mumbled.

'I didn't realize it was Nagini speaking and not Bathilda.'

'You don't realize when you're hearing Parseltongue?' Ron blurted.

Harry shook his head. 'Sounds like English to me most of the time. Like when I set that boa constrictor free. The only time I've ever really heard myself speak it was our second year in Myrtle's bathroom,' he added, with a significant look at Ron. He continued to stare at Ron, his brows knit. 'And when you and Hermione came out of the Chamber with basilisk fangs and you said something close enough to get the entrance to open,' he said slowly. 'The thing is, when I was at the zoo, I went to the reptile house.'

'Yeah, 'cause that's the first place I'd go,' Ron drawled.

'I started talking to this snake. And nothing. Went round to all the others and it was like none of them understood I word I said.'

Hermione turned to Ron. 'Say it!' she ordered.

'Say what?'

'That word you used to open the Chamber.'

'Don't know if I can, but I'll give it a go…' He took a hefty swallow of his butterbeer and cleared his throat. He hissed and spat roughly for a moment, then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and looked expectantly at Harry. 'Well?'

Harry shook his head. 'Parseltongue…' He and Ron gazed at Hermione, waiting for her to answer, but it was Ginny who spoke.

'Because he's not a Horcrux any longer,' she said. 'The only reason he could speak it was because of…' She self-consciously rubbed her forehead, cocking an eyebrow at Harry. 'It was like that when I had the diary,' she said tightly. 'Once it had been destroyed, I couldn't speak it anymore.'

They sat in another uncomfortable silence before Harry sighed explosively. 'Can't say I miss that,' he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

One side of Ginny's mouth turned up briefly. 'That makes two of us.'


	43. Living with Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George pulled Katie down to kiss her. He took a deep breath and licked his suddenly dry lips. Telling Katie he loved her had been difficult enough. Putting himself in a position to lose someone he loved, terrified him. There were a hundred things that could happen to Katie on a daily basis, and while none of them involved Dark magic, their result was another grave for him to visit. 'But we won't know if we don't try…' he said tentatively. His head lowered until it rested on Katie's shoulder, and his arms slipped around her waist. 'I think I'd… I'd like to try…' he whispered.

Harry walked next to Ginny, shoulders hunched against the bitterly cold wind that snaked its way through a gap between his scarf and the back of his neck. Ginny toyed with the ends of her scarf, sneaking glances at Harry. 'What?' he asked. 'Do I have a bogie on my nose or something?' he added, swiping the back of his hand under his nose.

'No…' Ginny hesitated then began walking again. 'Do you really miss it?'

'Miss what? Parseltongue?'

'Erm… sure…'

Harry heaved a sigh and shrugged. 'Not as much as you'd think,' he finally said. 'Considering there were only two of us that could speak it, and one of us is dead, it's not like I need it anymore. It's like when I realized my scar quit hurting. I'd lived with it for so long, it didn't dawn on me that it'd stopped for weeks. Like when someone had the wireless blaring in the common room and when they finally turned it off, it took a while to realize the sound was gone, and then the silence was almost as deafening as the noise. Frankly, I'm just glad not to have a bit of Riddle's soul in me anymore.'

'I did,' Ginny admitted so softly, Harry nearly lost it under the sound of their shoes crunching through the snow.

Harry came to a dead stop. 'What?' he blurted incredulously.

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest defensively. 'Just at first,' she muttered. 'You have to understand what my first year was like for me. I _know_ Dad took Percy, Fred, George, and Ron out into the tool shed and admonished them all to look after me. I know he did it, because I overheard Fred and George moaning about it before Ron started school. And you and Ron weren't able to get on the train, and Hermione sort of took me in hand on the train, then I got Sorted and once dinner was over, I was on my own. Sort of got, well… ignored. Even by Hermione. She got wrapped up in whatever it was the three of you were cooking up.'

Harry's lips twitched at Ginny's unintentional irony, but let it slide.

Ginny sighed and pulled her hat off, running a hand through her hair. 'I'm not blaming any of you, mind. But Tom – well, the Tom in the diary – he talked to me when none of you would. Even when I tried to get rid of the diary, I really didn't want to.'

'But he wasn't exactly a friend to you,' Harry objected.

'But when you're eleven, a bad friend is better than none,' Ginny retorted. She tugged her knitted hat back over her head, covering her ears. 'It was just for a few weeks, anyway,' she murmured.

'How could you miss someone that was so horrible to you?' Harry persisted in bewilderment.

Ginny stooped to gather a handful of snow, and began to methodically pack it into a ball. 'All those times Ron acted like a prat to you, did you miss him?' she asked rhetorically. 'Of course you did,' she continued, not waiting for Harry to answer. 'But even when Ron was at his worst you still had Hermione.' She shook her head, lobbing the snowball at the low stone wall that bordered the lane leading to Hogwarts. 'I didn't have anyone. And it took not having him in my head all the time like that for me to take it for what it was.' She fixed Harry with a hard glare. 'I don't miss it anymore.'

'I know,' Harry said, reaching for one of her hands. He pulled her toward him, and wrapped his arms around her, the two of them rocking slightly. 'You made it quite clear that you weren't enamored of the git when your dad was in the hospital that Christmas.' He took a deep breath. 'But I won't lie and say I'm not surprised that you did, even for a bit.'

'I'd feel the same way if I were you,' Ginny admitted ruefully. She scrubbed her mittened hands over her face and resumed the walk back to school. 'When do you have to go back?'

'We told your mum we'd be home by seven or eight.'

'So you've got some time?' Ginny said brightly.

'What do you want?' Harry said suspiciously.

'Game in a few weeks. Playing Hufflepuff, who aren't horrible this year.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. Let me put it like this… They beat Ravenclaw so badly; the Ravenclaw team wouldn't come down for dinner.'

'What was the score? Three hundred fifty to nil?'

'Close.' Ginny paused. 'Four hundred to nil.'

Harry's eyes widened. 'Blimey.'

'Wood left a few of those diagrams with the moving arrows lying about in the changing rooms,' Ginny informed him. 'They're dead useful,' she added.

'I have nightmares about those bloody diagrams,' Harry snorted. 'But if it helps…'

'It helps with Dennis. If he can see what he's supposed to do, it works out better for him than for me to try and tell him.'

'And being fifty points behind Ravenclaw in the Quidditch Cup doesn't factor into it at all,' Harry said dryly.

'No, of course not,' Ginny insisted, with wide-eyed innocence. 'Pity you can't fly yet,' she murmured. 'We could try a few things.' She went through the gates of Hogwarts and clattered through the courtyard, making her way to the Quidditch pitch. Once inside the changing rooms, Ginny swiftly unbuttoned her coat and let it fall off her shoulders, tossing it over a bench. Her scarf, hat, and mittens quickly followed. Harry let the door swing shut behind them and pulled off his own coat, shuddering in the warm, humid air of the changing rooms.

'Still smells like broom polish and sweaty socks,' he said wistfully, straddling one of the benches that ran down the middle of the room. Ginny dropped to the bench in front of him, scooting backward until her rear wedged between Harry's thighs, while she Summoned one of Wood's old diagrams. Harry let her wriggle until she found a comfortable position, then wrapped an arm around her waist. 'You didn't just bring me in here to talk Quidditch strategy, did you?'

Ginny prodded the diagram with her wand. 'Your powers of deductive reasoning astound me,' she drawled. 'Have they taught you that in your Auror department?'

Harry slid a hand under Ginny's heavy hair and swept it aside, revealing the column of her neck. He nipped her, just under her ear, making Ginny giggle a little, but she tilted her head all the same to allow him better access. 'Yes. Yes, they did,' he murmured against her skin. 'And I'd just like to say before things go any further, that this has got to be the most stereotypical setting for a slightly illicit tryst…'

Ginny's head fell against his shoulder. 'Right. Because no one's ever snogged in here before.' She shivered as one of Harry's hands slipped under her jumper and slid across the skin of her stomach. 'At least it's not an abandoned classroom.' She pressed her lips against the underside of his jaw.

'Or the top of the Astronomy tower…' Harry hissed, as she found a particularly sensitive spot.

Ginny maneuvered so she faced Harry and began to pull the tails of his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. 'So… Have any new scars to show off?'

* * *

Katie turned the dial of the wireless aimlessly, searching for something – anything – that would allow her to shut out the conversation she'd had with her mother about George that played in an endless loop, over and over. It galled her to admit that possibly nothing she could do would ever be enough to make George happy, but at the same time, she mentally berated herself for contributing to George's unhappiness. The sound of knocking on her door made Katie quickly turn down the wireless. She opened the door to discover her neighbor standing on their small landing. 'Sorry, Mr. Grevas… Was the wireless too loud?'

'Not at all,' the older man said cheerfully. 'But I was wondering what a pretty young lady such as yourself was doing all alone on a Saturday afternoon.'

Katie smiled wanly. 'Don't feel much like going out,' she replied.

'Haven't felt much like going out for the past several weeks,' Mr. Grevas pointed out.

'It's not like I went out a great deal before Martin and I stopped seeing each other. And I've been working a lot.'

'Your friend hasn't been round, either,' the older man commented idly. 'The one with all that glorious ginger hair…?'

'George? Erm… no.' Katie traced the grain of the wooden floor with a toe.

'You have any plans today?'

Katie shook her head. 'No.'

Mr. Grevas beamed. 'Well, then! You must come to my flat for tea.' He gestured to the open door on the opposite side of the landing.

Katie looked down at her ragged Gryffindor Quidditch sweatshirt. 'I'm not really dressed for visiting…'

'Pish-posh,' Mr. Grevas dismissed. 'You look fine. Humor an old man for one afternoon.'

Katie nodded. 'All right.' She kicked off her slippers and shoved her feet into a pair of battered clogs that sat next to the door and crossed the landing into Mr. Grevas' flat. While he puttered around the tiny kitchen, Katie wandered about his sitting room, pausing to examine the photographs clustered on the mantle of his fireplace. She picked up a small black-and-white Muggle photograph in a silver filigree frame, studying the young woman with upswept hair, smiling shyly. 'Mr. Grevas? Who is this?' she asked.

Mr. Grevas set a tray with sandwiches, scones, and fairy cakes on the small table near the window. 'Oh, that's my first wife. Amelia. She was a Muggle.'

'What happened to her?' Katie asked curiously.

'Oh…' Mr. Grevas returned to the kitchen to fetch a pot of tea. 'She died many years ago.' He gazed at the photograph, his eyes growing misty. 'In nineteen forty-four.' He set the teapot on the table and poured a cup of tea for Katie. 'How do you take your tea, dear?'

'Milk, please,' Katie replied distractedly. 'I'm sorry about your wife…'

'I should go back a bit,' Mr. Grevas murmured, pouring his own tea. 'Come, sit, eat, and I'll tell you.' Katie slid into the seat across from his and took a sandwich. 'I ought to go back a bit… How much do you know about Muggle history?'

'More than most,' Katie allowed.

'Wonderful. What do you know about the Second World War?'

'Nineteen thirty-nine to nineteen forty-five,' Katie supplied. 'It involved a great many of the world's countries, divided into two factions – the Allied and the Axis Powers. Britain fought as part of the Allied forces with the United States and the Soviet Union.'

'Impressive,' Mr. Grevas said.

'My dad's a tutor and runs a library in Oxborough.'

'Well, as you know, the magical world does not meddle in the affairs of Muggles. Something like the Prime Directive.'

'The what?' Katie mentally reviewed every History of Magic lesson she could remember, but that wasn't a term she could recall.

'Never mind,' Mr. Grevas sighed. 'However, we had heard of horrible things going on in the European continent. Terrible things. So a few of us volunteered to help the Muggle armies. The Minister of Magic at the time managed to communicate this to the British Prime Minister. We were then told of an Allied plan to invade northwestern France in an effort to try and liberate the continent. We didn't do much, aside from putting Shield charms around some of the units of soldiers. The Normandy invasion was their best hope to turn the tide of the war. At any rate, I was still in northern France when the Germans bombed London almost a week after the invasion. Amelia was one of the casualties. I didn't find out for weeks.'

'How long had you been married?' Katie asked.

'Just a few years.' Mr. Grevas sipped his tea. 'I did manage to remarry in time.' He Summoned another photograph from the mantle. 'Violet.'

Katie accepted the proffered photograph. 'Was it hard for her? To live with Amelia's ghost?'

'At first. But she once told me after a row that if I hadn't had Amelia, I wouldn't be the man I was.'

Katie frowned and handed the photograph back to Mr. Grevas. 'Good point,' she murmured.

'Poor Violet. She put up with a lot of my rubbish early on,' Mr. Grevas said with a hint of regret. 'Took a long time for me to stop comparing her to Amelia.' He shook himself and set both photographs on the windowsill. 'So why hasn't your friend George been round lately? He seemed to like you.'

'You must have an awful lot of free time on your hands,' Katie commented dryly. 'You seem to know everything that goes on here.'

'Ah…' Mr. Grevas took an embarrassed sip of his tea. 'Well. I don't have a telly since I moved into Diagon Alley after Violet died. Won't work. And most of what's on the wireless is rubbish. So I read, mostly. And you're a young lady all on her own. And while I'm sure you're more than capable of looking after yourself, keeping a bit of an eye on you makes me feel better.'

Katie leaned across the table and gently kissed the older man's cheek. 'Thanks, Mr. Grevas.'

Mr. Grevas gently patted Katie's cheek. 'So how do you feel about George?'

Katie gazed at a fairy cake before she took a bite of it. 'I'm not sure,' she finally said. 'I mean, I do – like him, that is – but…'

'But what?'

Katie blindly reached for her cup. 'I've treated him rather shabbily, I'm afraid.'

'Because…?' Mr. Grevas prompted.

'Because he asked me to have dinner with him. Not too long after New Year's Eve…' she said, trailing off embarrassed.

'Ah…' Mr. Grevas breathed in comprehension. 'I heard about what happened at that party in the Leaky Cauldron…'

Katie blushed. 'Yes, well,' she demurred. 'At any rate, when he asked me out, I turned him down. Said I thought the two of us and his brother's ghost in a relationship were too many,' she added, squirming in chagrin, recalling what Mr. Grevas had said about how his second wife eventually felt about his first wife.

Mr. Grevas didn't say anything. He just gave Katie a penetrating look and peered through the window. Soft light spilled from the windows of the shop into the snowy street, falling rapidly into grey twilight. 'He's at that shop of his,' he told Katie.

'Oh…' Katie selected a sandwich and ate it slowly, keeping her eyes away from the lace-curtained windowpane.

Mr. Grevas smiled. 'Go on…' he said, tilting his head toward the window. Katie's eyes flew up to meet his and he nodded at the window once more. Katie stood up and darted to the door of the flat.

'Thank you,' she said sincerely, before slipping out the door and stumbling halfway down the stairs before common sense took over. _I can't go to George looking like this!_ she thought, looking down at her shabby sweatshirt and worn jeans. She dashed back into her flat, grabbed the first clothes she laid hands on out of her wardrobe and threw them on, yanking a brush through her hair, and hastily brushing her teeth before running down the stairs, and into the street. She didn't stop until she burst through the door of the shop.

George sat on a tall stool behind the counter, his cheek resting in an upturned hand, a cup of cold tea at his elbow, frowning at columns of numbers in the ledger book. He gazed at Katie for a moment, his eyes sweeping over her. 'Aren't you a bit underdressed?' he asked mildly.

Startled, Katie looked down at her clothes. She had forgotten her coat and wore a skirt and blouse more suitable for spring or summer. 'I was in a hurry,' she murmured.

'Obviously.' George slid off the stool and ducked into the back. 'Don't go anywhere,' he said over his shoulder as he dodged between the magenta curtain and the edge of the doorway. He quickly returned with Katie's book that he'd inadvertently taken home with him New Year's Eve. He mutely pushed it across the counter to her, but Katie made no effort to take it.

'I'm sorry…' she began. 'For what I said about being with you. It was…' She shrugged, feeling her face burn. 'I was wrong. You wouldn't be you without…' She cleared her throat. 'Without Fred. And I shouldn't have… Well, I shouldn't have held that against you.' Katie trailed off and turned her gaze to her feet. She could still feel George's eyes burrowing into the top of her head. 'Well, then…' she muttered, after the silence became too much to bear and turned to leave.

It wasn't until George heard the door close that he realized Katie had left the book on the counter. He stared at it until the edges blurred. _If Fred were here, I'd never hear the end of it for buggering this up… If Fred were here, I wouldn't even think about going after her…_ 'All right, bro…' he said softly to the empty shop. 'I think this might be my last chance…' He grabbed the book and ran after her, chasing her down the street. 'Katie!' He darted between the shoppers, hurrying home with their purchases until he came to Katie's building. He staggered up the stairs to her flat and pounded on the door, panting. 'You forgot your book,' he told her when she opened the door.

Katie took the book from George. 'Thank you…' They stood on the landing, wrapped in an uncomfortable silence until a muffled voice broke through it.

'Oh, for the love of Godric, kiss her already!'

Katie started and clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling. George followed her gaze to the door on the other side of the landing. Just under the crack was a small, flesh-colored string. He turned back to Katie and spent one more moment examining her, then stepped toward her, his free hand tangling in her hair, as they moved into Katie's flat.

On the other side of the landing, Mr. Grevas toasted the ceiling with a small glass of wine, as he turned up the music on his wireless. Swelling melodies filled the room. 'Sometimes, it just takes a bit of the nudge in the right direction, doesn't it, Amelia…?'

* * *

George pulled his mouth away from the juncture of Katie's neck and shoulder. 'This isn't some sort of 'Oh, poor George, he's never shagged a girl' kind of pity fuck is it?' he growled.

Katie's hands managed to undo his jeans and she shoved them roughly down his legs to crumple at his feet. 'Of course not!' she snapped. 'Don't be ridiculous!'

'Brilliant,' he muttered, managing to unbutton Katie's skirt without ripping the buttons off. The skirt floated to the floor and Katie kicked it off to one side. She attempted to pull his limp, crumpled shirt off his arms, but she'd forgotten to undo the cuffs. George let go of Katie and impatiently yanked his hands through the sleeves, throwing the offending garment aside carelessly. He glared at Katie's shirt, at the row of small buttons that mocked his shaking hands. He tried to slip the top button through the buttonhole, but his fingers couldn't seem to get it all the way through.

'Oh, just rip the damn thing!' she spat. 'That's what _Reparo_ is for.'

'If you say so,' George breathed, gathering a handful of fabric in each hand and _pulled_. The gauzy shirt slithered off Katie's shoulders, leaving her standing in front of George clad in only her bra and knickers. He began to push her backwards, following in her wake until both of them fell across Katie's bed. Dizzy, he slid the pale pink knickers over the swell of her hips and tugged until they slipped over her toes. He shoved his boxers down and nudged Katie's thighs apart with his knees.

Fumbling slightly, he slid into Katie, unable to hear her squeak of surprise through the roaring of in his ears. 'Open your eyes,' he demanded, gratified to see Katie's eyes flutter open. 'Who do you love?' he hissed with each thrust into her. 'Who do you love?'

Katie pulled her knees back and wrapped her legs around George's waist, her body arching to meet his. 'You,' she gasped. 'I love you.'

George stilled, and with his teeth clenched, began to move slower. 'That's good,' he said breathlessly. He didn't know what had come over him, but he needed to have Katie, to take her. She was his now. He trailed the fingers of one hand over the lines and hollows of her face. 'I love you…' He felt his body convulse in a familiar, yet entirely unknown sensation, then lay sprawled over Katie, her body still twined around his.

He took a few minutes to allow his breathing to slow, his face buried in the crook of Katie's neck, feeling her pulse jump under his cheek. Slowly, George turned his head to meet Katie's grey eyes, heavy lidded and shimmering. 'I'm sorry,' he rasped.

'What ever for?' she murmured.

'I didn't mean to be so…' One of George's shoulders hitched slightly. 'Are you all right?' he asked, anxiety drifting into his voice.

A smile spread over Katie's face. 'Yeah…'

George managed to shift his body to one side of Katie, still keeping one of his arms wrapped around her. 'Next time…' he sighed sleepily. 'Better…'

* * *

Katie cringed a little as George's hand slid up her inner thigh. Her hand pushed his away. 'Don't…'

'Don't what? Touch you?' he asked incredulously, replacing his hand.

'Yes… No…' Katie shifted toward George. 'I'm pudgy there… Always have been…'

George propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at Katie. 'You have curves,' he pronounced. 'Where you're supposed to.' He let his hand slide upward. 'If I got aroused by broomsticks, I'd be somewhere else, wanking off with my broomstick, looking at pictures of bowtruckles.'

Katie chuckled. 'I think they have people at the Ministry who frown on that sort of behavior.'

'I'm sure they do.'

Katie's own hands roamed over George, palms sliding over him. She looked up at him. 'Read to me…'

'What? Now?'

'Yes. Now.' Katie slid off the bed and padded into the sitting room, retrieving the book George had brought back with him earlier. She took it back into the small bedroom, where a lamp cast the bed into a dim pool of light. She curled on the bed next to George, her head on his shoulder, leafing through the book. 'This one…' she said, holding the book out to him.

George took the book, and felt his brows shoot up in surprise as he skimmed over the words. He'd read it to Katie when she was unconscious a few times. It had been as close as he'd come to admitting how he'd felt about her. Self-consciously, he cleared his throat. 'A woman waits for me, she contains all, nothing is lacking…' He felt his face flush as he looked up at Katie. 'Are you sure…?'

'Please…'

George nodded and dropped his eyes back to the page. He continued to read, phrases interspersed with pauses filled with kisses – demanding, pleading, but always just to the brink. And George continued to read. 'I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for others' sakes, Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards…' He stopped and looked down at Katie. 'This feels so much more foolish when you're awake, I'll have you know.'

'Why…?'

'It's so…' George ran a thumb over the edge of the book cover. 'Naked,' he finished lamely.

Katie felt a rush of giggles bubble to the surface. 'Considering what we've just done, you're going to worry about a poem?'

George set the book down and tipped Katie's head back. 'Because the difference is,' he began, threading his fingers through her tangled hair, 'we're both awake… And it's so much more than this…' he muttered, his free hand sweeping in a gesture encompassing the bed.

'I meant it…' Katie said softly. She didn't have to tell George what she meant.

George smiled crookedly. 'How long?'

Katie sighed and shifted until she was partially draped over George, her chin resting on his chest. 'I really don't know… But after you stopped talking to me after the new year…' Katie shrugged. 'I missed you,' she said simply.

'You just missed me?'

Katie straddled George's hips and cradled his face between her hands. 'I missed you,' she told him simply. 'It was always you and I was too thick to see it. Or I just didn't want to,' Katie admitted. 'Because what if it doesn't work out? I'll lose my best friend…'

George pulled Katie down to kiss her. He took a deep breath and licked his suddenly dry lips. Telling Katie he loved her had been difficult enough. Putting himself in a position to lose someone he loved, terrified him. There were a hundred things that could happen to Katie on a daily basis, and while none of them involved Dark magic, their result was another grave for him to visit. 'But we won't know if we don't try…' he said tentatively. His head lowered until it rested on Katie's shoulder, and his arms slipped around her waist. 'I think I'd… I'd like to try…' he whispered.

* * *

George's eyes fluttered open. One of Katie's hands rested on his chest. He traced the lines of her hand with his eyes. It was small and fine-boned, but George hadn't realized a hand could communicate more than words could – whispering against his skin in open-palmed supplication; clutching with the desperation of one drowning; fingers digging with urgent demand, unwilling to take "wait" for an answer.

It was a decidedly odd sensation for George to share a bed with someone else. He hadn't done that since he and Fred were small. He was intensely aware of his body in relation to Katie's. The sound of her breathing. The feel of her breath against his shoulder. He was almost afraid to move, lest he wake her. The hands that had so recently roused him past the point of coherent thought, now lay still and quiet, resting in the twilight of satiation.

Carefully, George turned his head on the pillow and gazed at Katie's sleeping face. Aside from how strange it felt to sleep in the same bed with her, he realized everything else hadn't felt strange at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George read 'A Woman Waits For Me' by Walt Whitman from Leaves of Grass.


	44. In Pursuit Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry shook his head and immersed himself into the Malfoys' files on his desk. He usually didn't feel anything but contempt for the family as a whole, but as he pieced together their history of the past several years, Harry felt a slight stirring of pity. He wanted so badly to squash it down, to grind it under his heel like it was nothing more than an inconvenient weed, but he couldn't. He didn't know what galled him more – that he could see the Malfoys as human, or that they actually were.

George's eyes opened and he found himself sprawled over Katie's bed, one arm under her head and a leg wedged between hers. He lifted his head and peered at the small alarm clock on the other side of the bed. It was just after six in the morning. George let his head fall back to the pillow and he nuzzled the back of Katie's neck, inhaling the scent of her sleep-warmed skin before beginning the process of gently extricating himself from the bed without waking Katie. He reluctantly slid out from under the quilt and nearly whimpered at the loss of the warmth of Katie's body. He found his boxers and pulled them on. 'Wh're you goin'?' Katie asked sleepily.

George perched on the edge of the bed and smoothed Katie's hair from her face. 'Shhh. Go back to sleep. I have to go home,' he murmured. 'I've given Mum enough fits lately,' he added.

'See you later?' Katie asked hopefully.

'Yeah.'

'Come over for tea? 'Bout six?'

'Sounds great.' George leaned down and kissed her. 'Need to go.' He pulled the quilt over Katie's shoulders and stood. He crept into the small sitting room and found his jeans and shirt in crumpled heaps on the floor and shook them out, grimacing over the wrinkles. He quickly dressed and shoved his feet into his trainers and glanced around for his jumper. It was by the door, so he reached down for it as he opened the door, and pulled the jumper over his head while he slipped out of the flat. He softly closed the door and hesitated on the landing. He could hear Katie’s neighbor moving around his flat. George started to tiptoe down a few steps, then went back to the landing and knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Katie's neighbor, bundled in a thick dressing gown. 'You are a meddlesome, nosy, old busybody,' George said pointedly, then broke into a smug grin. 'Thanks.' He ran down the stairs and Disapparated as he left the building.

He approached the Burrow warily. Molly was sitting at the table, her customary early-morning cup of tea at her elbow. George opened the back door and pulled a chair out at the table. Molly looked up from her magazine and gave George the kind of look that made him think she knew everything he was thinking at that moment. He braced himself for the expected onslaught of verbiage, but Molly merely lifted the teapot and inclined her head toward it in question. George nodded wordlessly and Molly flicked her wand carelessly at the cupboard. A cup and saucer landed in front of him and Molly filled his cup. George busied himself with adding sugar and milk to his tea, avoiding his mother's intent gaze. He sipped his tea and set the cup down, straightening his shoulders. 'I spent the night at Katie's,' he said quickly, before he could lose his resolve. 'And you can't lecture me, because I'm older than both you and Dad were,' he blurted. By the time his parents were his age, they had Bill and would soon have Charlie. And all of them were more than aware of the number of months between Bill's birthday and Molly and Arthur's wedding anniversary.

George took another fortifying sip of his tea. 'I'll be twenty-one in just over a month,' he said meaningfully. 'Katie was – is – my…' He sipped his tea once more. 'First,' he mumbled. He waited, wincing slightly in anticipation of his mother's reaction.

Molly's bright brows shot up in surprise, but she merely tilted her head to the side gave George the sort of quizzical look she would give a cake that had fallen the moment it came out of the oven. She continued to sip her tea, gazing thoughtfully at son, who squirmed in obvious discomfort. She set the cup down in its saucer with a soft _click_ , then pushed herself to her feet, drawing her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown. The corner of her mouth quirked when George visibly braced himself. But she flicked it at a small cupboard near the sink and a small glass jar flew into her hand. George recognized it as the paste he and Fred had developed to treat minor injuries they sustained in the shop after the usual remedies proved to be ill-equipped to the task. She set it down on the table, next to George's cup and gently pushed his head to the side, fingertips brushing over a spot just under where his ear used to be. 'You might want to use that paste before the others get up,' she told him. 'Otherwise, you'll never hear the end of it,' Molly sighed.

George flushed dully, and snatched the small jar of paste from the table, while his other hand flew up to the side of his neck. Molly ran her hand over his hair a few times, like she had done when he was small and she wanted him to settle down and take a nap after lunch. She tilted his chin up with an index finger and looked down at him, her face suddenly serious. 'Be careful, won't you?' she said quietly, then before he could blink she was gone, disappearing up the stairs to wash before she came back down to make breakfast. He gaped after her for a moment, then felt the bottom drop from his stomach.

There was a charm that could prevent pregnancy, if done correctly. And George remembered clearly the day Arthur had taught it to him and Fred. There was just one small problem…

He couldn't remember for the life of him if Katie had ever said the incantation.

Because George knew for certain he hadn't said it at all the previous night.

* * *

George slipped a plate into the sudsy hot water, swirling a dishcloth over the surface of the plate. Harry, he'd noticed, more often than not did the washing up by hand, a chore George thought Harry would have stopped doing once he was able to do magic legally out of school – if nothing else than for the sheer enjoyment of never having to be reminded of his previous life. But Harry claimed it was soothing, mindless even, and one of the few things he could do to still the clamor in his mind. He'd even gone so far as to admit when things weren't going well for him at the Ministry, Harry found that doing the washing up for Molly after dinner gave him a small sense that he had managed to accomplish something – anything – when he could see the stack of plates and cutlery shrink and reappear on the other side as something transformed. It was orderly.

'George?' Katie nudged him with an elbow, a tea towel in one hand. 'Are you going to wipe the pattern off my plate?'

'What? Oh…' George rinsed the plate and handed it to Katie.

Katie began to dry the plate and set it in the cupboard behind them. 'Knut for your thoughts?' she asked.

George chuckled softly. 'Not worth that much.' He reached for another plate and lowered into the sink, ducking his head a little so Katie couldn't see the pensive expression on his face. There wasn't much that either of them considered _verboten_ , as far as conversational topics went, but it made him feel sort of funny to bring up the topic of birth control with her. George didn't consider himself to be a prude, either, although there were certain things he thought crossed some imaginary line he had in his head into what ought to remain personal. He didn't want to hear a bunch of rubbish about cycles and potions, and the nonchalance with which Ron had described that afternoon, in detail, the method he used with Hermione left George a little shaken. He knew he ought to at least attempt to broach the subject with Katie, but every time he tried, the words died in his throat.

'Are you all right?' Katie's worried voice broke through his ruminations. 'You look as if you're going to be sick.' She peered at him in concern. 'Were the sandwiches all right?' She gingerly plucked a leftover sandwich off its plate and sniffed it cautiously. 'I made them exactly the way my mum does…'

'No, the sandwiches were fine,' George assured her hastily.

Katie folded the damp tea towel and smoothed the creases from it. 'Have you come to regret getting involved with me, then?' she asked, a lump in her throat. The towel twisted between her fingers, the knuckles slowly turning white.

'No!' George insisted. He shook his head. 'It's nothing. Just sort of… thinking… about a few things,' he said lamely. He shook himself like a dog and tried to cheerfully smile at her, then turned back to the sink, plunging the cups into the water. He jerked when he felt Katie's hands slide over his back and water sloshed over the edge of the sink onto his shoes. 'We can't do that again!' he blurted.

Katie stared at George for a long moment. 'We can't… what? Read poetry to each other?' she asked, bemused.

'Well, if that's what you want to call it,' George huffed. 'And I don't mean we can't do that anymore, but I don't remember saying any sort of charm so you… we… don't…' He swept his hand in front of his middle in a wide arc, mimicking the curve of a full-term pregnancy. 'Did you do a charm?' he demanded.

Katie's lips twitched, but she merely said, 'No.' She leaned a hip against the counter. 'Would you like to know what my mum calls people who rely on charms?' she asked conversationally.

'What?'

'Mum and Dad.' Katie bit her lip, trying not to laugh out loud. George paled visibly. 'It's all right,' Katie told him, patting his arm soothingly.

George turned back to the sink. 'Once is all it takes, you know,' he muttered darkly. 'Look at my parents,' he added. 'From now on, everything that can be covered will be covered,' he stated vehemently.

'Fine,' Katie said smoothly. She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to the underside of George's jaw. 'I've got everything under control. Don't worry,' she said.

George squinted at her, trying to judge the veracity of her statement. While he'd never really heard of anything Katie could do besides that infernal charm, he figured she was telling the truth. It might even be something similar to what Molly probably used. George might not have been particularly knowledgeable on the subject, but even he knew his parents weren't exactly celibate. Furthermore, it had to have been effective. Ginny had been the last of the lot of them, and as far as George knew, there hadn't been so much as the whiff of talcum powder once Ginny was out of nappies. He had no reason to not believe Katie. George relaxed slightly and nodded. 'All right.'

* * *

Professor Trentham stopped Ginny on her way to her first class. 'Miss Weasley, when is your free period today?' she asked crisply.

'Three. After Herbology.'

'Hmm. You'll want to stop and have a bit of a wash first.'

'Why?' Ginny shifted the heavy bag a bit higher on her shoulder.

'The captains and owners of three Quidditch teams have expressed an interest in recruiting you.'

'Which teams?' Ginny asked quickly.

Trentham allowed herself to smile a little. 'Tutshill, Kenmare, and Holyhead. What will happen is each team will present their offers to you. You won't have to give them an answer straightaway. And perhaps after hearing each other's offers, one team might nudge theirs up a bit. If they feel you're playing hard to get, that is.'

Ginny stopped in the crowded corridor. 'And you suggest I play hard to get?'

'I suggest nothing of the sort, Miss Weasley,' Trentham said primly. 'I merely feel that you ought to weigh each option and choose the one that will benefit you the most. And I urge you not to accept something just because it's been offered,' she said dryly.

Ginny nodded. 'I see.' She began to walk toward the Potions classroom. 'Thank you, professor.'

'One more thing, Miss Weasley,' Trentham began. 'You are good. You're very good,' she said ruefully.

'So I've been told,' Ginny said dryly.

'Mind the cheek, young lady,' Trentham sniffed. She continued, 'I didn't fall off the back of some Axminster last week. I've seen a few former students who've allowed themselves to be pushed into positions they weren't mature enough to handle or lacked the necessary skills to make a proper go of it. If they're any good at developing talent, they'll do one of two things: offer you a place on the practice squad, with the intent to move you up to the reserves and onto the team, eventually; or, if they feel you're too good to languish on a practice squad, you'll be placed on the reserves. It's quite all right to take some time to come to a decision.'

'And that's not playing hard to get?' Ginny snorted skeptically.

'Not at all, Miss Weasley.' Professor Trentham paused at the end of the corridor. 'That is just good sense. Something you seem to have in a greater amount than most others your age.'

Ginny shook her head, chuckling to herself. 'Helps when you're the youngest of seven,' she murmured to herself. It was true, for the most part. Ginny had quickly learned as a child that whatever the twins or Ron did to make their parents angry at them, she ought to do the opposite.

'Three-thirty, in the staffroom, then, Miss Weasley,' Trentham said crisply, and strode into the Transfiguration classroom.

The rest of the day passed in somewhat of a blur for Ginny, but soon after she'd managed to scrub the last of the potting soil from under her fingernails, she presented herself at the door to the staff lounge. Professor Trentham was waiting outside. She tapped the door with her wand, and ushered Ginny into the staffroom. Ginny smiled brightly at the three adults clustered around a table, piled with what the school elves considered a light tea. 'Ah, Ginny, you're early,' McGonagall, stated. She gestured to the table. 'Care for a cup of tea?'

'Yes, please.' Ginny deposited her schoolbag on the floor next to the door and accepted the cup McGonagall held out to her. She didn't bother to add sugar, nor milk to her tea, but took a token sip, and replaced the cup in the saucer. 'Right,' she began firmly. 'I'd just like to start off by saying I want to finish school and take my N.E.W.T.s.'

'Don't fancy becoming another Willow, then, eh?' Gwenog Jones said bluntly.

'No.' Ginny perched on the edge of a large wing chair, and set the cup of tea down on the table next to it.

'I don't see that happening to you,' stated a tall, thin wizard, who rather resembled a broom, with his shock of spiky, dark blonde hair. 'I'm Thomas Pinter, scout for Kenmare.'

Ginny snorted delicately. 'Neither did the bloke that recruited Willow,' she retorted.

'Touché, Thomas,' snickered the other scout. 'John McKenzie, Tutshill,' he said to Ginny in introduction.

Gwenog leaned against the mantle and crossed her arms over her chest. 'There are a couple of different ways we can go about this,' she said in her gravelly voice. 'But I think we all have similar offers…?' She glanced at the Thomas and John with a raised eyebrow.

'I do believe so,' John replied.

'So, we can discuss them now, and you can make a decision before you go to dinner, or we'll each leave you the tentative terms of your contract, if you do decide to sign with one of us, and you can reply via owl by the deadline.'

'When is my deadline?' Ginny asked.

'End of March,' Thomas said. 'We'll hold tryouts in July to decide where to place you for the season, and you'd join the team at the beginning of August.'

'Tryouts?' Ginny asked, running suddenly damp palms over the skirt of her uniform.

'Team'll change between now and then,' Gwenog said. 'Some players get traded to other teams, some quit, some retire. We'll need to see how you fit in with the team itself, and if you need some time in the reserves first, before you join the team, or if you need some time with the practice squad. Pay varies based on that.'

'I see.' Ginny nodded and stood up. 'I think I'd like to go over the contracts,' she said quietly. 'On my own.' She thought she saw Gwenog smile at that, and accepted a thick sheaf of parchment from each person. 'It was lovely to meet you again, Miss Jones.'

'Gwenog.'

'Erm… Gwenog…' Ginny shook John and Thomas' hands, then slipped out of the staffroom, gazing in slight dismay at the parchment in her hands. She didn't feel as if a month was enough time to pore over each contract, and make the inevitable pro/con list for each team. She hoped Hermione wasn't too terribly busy with her Ancient Runes project. For as much as Hermione didn't understand Quidditch, she was logical to a fault sometimes, and it was what Ginny felt she needed to be able to make the right decision for herself. Because the truth be told, Ginny didn't care which team of the three she played for, just as long as she had the chance to play.

* * *

Hermione gathered her things from the large table in the library where she'd spent the afternoon studying, and stuffed them into her bag. She trudged to the Ancient Runes classroom and dropped the heavy bag into a desk. Dumbledore was already in the portrait frame, his bright blue eyes twinkling.

Hermione dug a scroll of parchment from the bag flicked her wand at it, making it float in mid-air in front of Dumbledore's portrait. She eyed Dumbledore suspiciously as he scanned her translation of 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'. She cleared her throat, unsure of how to approach the topic and not speak out of turn to the late Headmaster. 'Sir?

'Yes, Miss Granger?' Dumbledore glanced at her over the rims of his half-moon glasses.

'In light of recent events, how much of the truth are you going to put in your commentary?' she asked evenly. _Remember what Dad told you… Stand your ground…_

'Still looking out for Mr. Potter, I see.' Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly.

Hermione's brows drew together in a grimace. 'I don't want this to disrupt his life,' she said. 'If people knew the Elder wand really existed, he'd spend the rest of his life fending off challenges, never able to live the kind of normal life he craves because of it. It's bad enough he's spent all this time living the way he does. He's just learned to stop pushing people away,' she said sharply.

'I was under the impression that the Elder wand is no longer in Mr. Potter's physical possession,' Dumbledore replied calmly.

'It's not,' Hermione sniffed. 'But you know how the legend goes. He'll spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.' She nudged the battered copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ with a finger. 'And if people put two and two together and realize that Harry was in possession of all three of them… It'll be like all that Boy-Who-Lived and Chosen One nonsense that he tried to avoid all over again. But this time it'll be worse.

'It's not fair, sir,' Hermione insisted. 'He never asked for any of it. And I won't be a part of creating a new burden for him.' She drew in a deep breath. _Don't be afraid to say it and mean it…_ 'Having this translation published while I'm still in school is an honor, sir,' she began carefully. 'But if Harry's mentioned anywhere in the commentaries, even if it's so much as a footnote, then I must respectfully request to you and Professor Babbling that someone else be given this privilege.'

Dumbledore sighed heavily, but nodded. 'I had intended to keep the commentary as if the objects were, in fact, mythological. Harry's name will not be mentioned.' He gazed at Hermione intently for a moment. 'How many other people know the truth?'

'Ron and me, for certain. And I think he's told Ginny, but she won't say anything, either.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Very well. Now, as I look over your work…'

* * *

Harry pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes wearily. It was March first. A momentous day. Ron's birthday. And Harry's first day back at work since the explosion in Belfast. Most of it had been occupied by reviewing the transcripts of the sessions between the Malfoys and the members of the Wizengamot. Now that Harry had been cleared to testify in their trials, the Ministry had moved swiftly in rescheduling them. And even with the bulk of their deposition completed, there were still a few things about which Draco remained silent – namely, just what had transpired on the top of the Astronomy tower the night Dumbledore had died. He refused to speak a word in his own defense or corroborate what Harry had told them. It made Harry wonder how long Draco would have been able to resist an Imperius curse. It also made him wonder just how skilled the other boy was in keeping secrets. Draco didn't seem to have anything resembling a confidante. Harry felt even more grateful for having the good sense to choose Ron as a friend. He could tell Ron nearly everything, and quite often did.

'Tired?' asked a quiet voice over the top of Harry's cubicle. Harry shoved his glasses back onto his nose and the form of Avery Carmichael swam into focus.

'A little,' Harry replied guardedly, waiting for the inevitable tart retort from Avery.

Avery shifted and rested his arms on top of the cubicle wall. 'I tried to warn you sooner,' he said in a low voice. 'Before that… bomb exploded. But Patronuses…'

'I understand,' Harry said quickly. Any sort of emotional upheaval made it difficult to cast a Patronus under the best of circumstances, and he could imagine all too well what Avery had been feeling as he tried and failed to cast his Patronus, feeling more and more frantic when he was unable to do it. He also knew it was the closest thing he would get to an apology from Avery.

'Yeah, well,' Avery muttered. 'I just wanted to say…' He nodded at Harry by way of farewell, and disappeared into his own cubicle. Harry shook his head and immersed himself into the Malfoys' files on his desk. He usually didn't feel anything but contempt for the family as a whole, but as he pieced together their history of the past several years, Harry felt a slight stirring of pity. He wanted so badly to squash it down, to grind it under his heel like it was nothing more than an inconvenient weed, but he couldn't. He didn't know what galled him more – that he could see the Malfoys as human, or that they actually were.

'Hiya.' The soft Irish voice startled Harry. 'I, erm, I stopped goin' to those meetings' Seamus said. 'Dean wrote t' me. Told me what had happened to you. And my da… My da had a few things to say to me.' Harry motioned for Seamus to come into the cubicle, but he shook his head. 'I'm all right out here.'

Harry quickly glanced around the tight confines of the cubicle and the realization dawned on him. He shoved the files into his bag and shrugged into his coat. 'Fancy a drink, then?' he asked. 'I'm done for the day.'

Seamus sighed in relief. 'Yeah. A pint would be nice.'

Harry led him to the lifts. He looked at Seamus from the corner of his eye. 'How are you?'

Seamus grimaced. 'I'm sorry that I punched you,' he murmured.

'It's all right,' Harry said, remembering what Peter had told him about Seamus. 'Mind if we collect Ron and George to come with us?' Seamus shook his head. As they rode to the Atrium level on the lift, Harry noticed how Seamus all but pressed his back into the corner of the lift, giving each occupant a lengthy, wary look. He repeated the process once they were clustered around a table at the Leaky Cauldron, earning a startled look from Ron. The tension on Seamus' face increased when Neville joined them, but Harry knew it wasn't something he'd be able to explain to Ron. Not that Ron wouldn't understand it, but even as much as he and Ron confided in each other, Harry recognized there were simply things he would be unable to say.

This was one of them.


	45. Balance of Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's brows shot up in surprise. Arthur wasn't the vindictive sort. He studied the older man for a long moment. 'Dumbledore always talked about how it's the choices we make in life,' Harry began quietly. 'Not everyone has the wherewithal to make a choice one way or another. She could have always said she didn't want to do what he said. But that didn't mean she could actually refuse to do what Lucius told her to do. At least not until the end, when she was the de facto head of the family, because he was so broken by Azkaban and Voldemort's near-rejection of him. And even then,' Harry said heatedly, 'if she chose not to conform, she would have died. And how does that help anybody? If she's lucky, she'll be the only one in that family not on probation when it's all said and done. Believe me, they'll need someone who can come and go at will, because if all three of them had to live under the terms the Wizengamot created, they might as well shut themselves up in that damned mansion of theirs and rot!'
> 
> Arthur slowly released the breath he'd been holding. 'Well, I see we haven't cocked you up completely, after all.'

Ron nearly choked on a bit of toast when Harry joined them for breakfast. 'What's up with the togs, mate?'

Harry self-consciously smoothed the sleeves of his jacket and reached for the pot of honey, and began to drizzle it over his porridge. 'Narcissa Malfoy's trial is today,' he said. 'Thought I'd try and look like a credible witness.'

Ron studied Harry over the rim of his tea cup. 'Looks like you've dressed up in someone else's clothes,' he pronounced. 'Like you're trying to look older.'

'But I _am_ trying to look older,' Harry protested. 'I don't want to look like I'm only eighteen.'

'You think there are members of the Wizengamot that don't know you're eighteen?' scoffed George.

'Leave him be,' Molly warned, flicking George's ear as she passed behind him with Arthur's porridge. 'He looks very smart. Wouldn't hurt either of you two to do the same occasionally.'

George snorted. 'Wear that in the shop?' he said dubiously, eyeing Harry's neatly pressed shirt and brand-new jacket. 'With the amount of goo I come home with on myself? Not bloody likely, Mum.'

'At least she didn't try and push dress robes on you,' Ron said to Harry, chuckling softly.

'And there's nothing wrong with dress robes,' Molly retorted, taking her seat at the table.

'Not if you're eighty,' Ron muttered under his breath to Harry.

Harry smiled briefly into his porridge and stirred the honey into his porridge. Ron was right. Dress robes were a bit on the stuffy side.

He wasn't really very hungry, but he knew Molly would fuss, mother that she was, if he didn't eat breakfast. He managed to choke down half of the porridge, and a piece of toast before Arthur rose from his place. Harry followed with alacrity, casually Vanishing the remains of his breakfast before grabbing his coat from the hook in the scullery, then following Arthur out of the back door. Arthur glanced at him as Harry pulled on his coat. It didn't look as if Harry had slept much the night before. The shadows under his eyes were a bit too pronounced and his shoulders slumped slightly, as they walked up the back garden to the stone wall.

Harry, for his part, was rather lost in his own thoughts. The more he had prepared for this day, the more he pitied Narcissa Malfoy. He probably knew more about her than her own son did, at this point. Her marriage had been arranged before Narcissa was of age. Harry had even seen the contract. The only way the contract could ever be broken was if either she or Lucius died. Harry had to give a sort of grudging appreciation to the wizard that wrote it. There wasn't a single loophole to be found in all its archaic language. It even had a provision that if Lucius was ever sentenced to life in Azkaban, Narcissa would still be bound by the terms of the contract, under the thumb of the Malfoy patriarch, whoever it may be, even if it was her own son and he was still in his minority. Harry wondered if Draco had known about that.

His stomach cramped with unease as they approached the brick wall. Harry's previous experiences with the Wizengamot weren't very pleasant. He could tell himself it was a different time, and he wasn't the one on trial, but even now several of them couldn't quite bring themselves to implicitly trust what he said during the hearings. And Harry was well aware of what rode on his ability to make the Wizengamot believe what he said about Narcissa. Arthur easily vaulted over the wall, and Harry did the same, but when he landed on the other side, he bent double, heaving.

When Arthur heard the muffled choking sounds, he stopped and turned. Harry clutched at the wall with one hand, while he tried to be quietly and neatly sick against the wall. He dug into the pocket of his robes and handed Harry a handkerchief. 'Better now than later, eh?' Harry grimaced weakly and spat repeatedly. Arthur pressed a glass of water that he'd conjured into Harry's free hand. 'We've got a few minutes,' he said easily.

Harry nodded and rinsed his mouth. 'Just nervous,' he mumbled, Vanishing the glass and continuing through the paddock to the Apparition point. 'It's all on me…'

'What is?'

'Her life… _Their_ lives,' Harry muttered. Arthur said nothing, but gave Harry a quizzical look. 'If I can't convince _them_ that she's guilty of nothing more than being in a bad marriage, she's going to Azkaban for the rest of her life.'

'Maybe she deserves it,' Arthur countered quickly.

Harry's brows shot up in surprise. Arthur wasn't the vindictive sort. He studied the older man for a long moment. 'Dumbledore always talked about how it's the choices we make in life,' Harry began quietly. 'Not everyone has the wherewithal to make a choice one way or another. She could have always said she didn't want to do what he said. But that didn't mean she could actually refuse to do what Lucius told her to do. At least not until the end, when she was the _de facto_ head of the family, because he was so broken by Azkaban and Voldemort's near-rejection of him. And even then,' Harry said heatedly, 'if she chose not to conform, she would have died. And how does that help anybody? If she's lucky, she'll be the only one in that family not on probation when it's all said and done. Believe me, they'll need someone who can come and go at will, because if all three of them had to live under the terms the Wizengamot created, they might as well shut themselves up in that damned mansion of theirs and rot!'

Arthur slowly released the breath he'd been holding. 'Well, I see we haven't cocked you up completely, after all.'

'What…?'

'Devil's advocate? Is that the term?' Arthur asked.

'Yeah.'

Arthur began to trudge toward the Apparition point once more. 'I worried about you when you volunteered to testify on the Malfoys' behalf,' he admitted. 'I wasn't entirely certain what you might gain from it all. Certainly not more wealth or fame, since you rather don't need or want more,' he said with a wry tone.

Harry jammed his hands into his coat pockets. 'There's a difference between justice and punishment,' he stated. 'I just want to do what I can so they get the right one.' He gave the only father figure he had left in the world a steady look. 'Haven't they been punished enough?' he said levelly, feeling for the first time as if he were an equal. 'And after all of this is done, we can attempt to regain our private lives, but theirs…? Theirs will never be their own lives again. Not until they die.' He spun on his heel, Apparating to London, indignation making his usual quiet _pop_ loud in the still morning.

* * *

Harry dropped his bag in his cubicle and threw the coat over the back of the hard, wooden chair. A small pale violet paper aeroplane flew lazily around the cubicle. Harry caught it without looking and thumbed it open. _Courtroom Four_ , it said. _Nine-thirty_. A little of the tension in Harry's shoulders eased. Courtroom Four was one of the smaller ones. It meant less than half of the full Wizengamot would be in attendance for Narcissa's trial. Because of its size, it was also closed to the public, but there was a small gallery for reporters and a few family members and friends. Harry didn't think Narcissa would have anyone in the gallery today. Once again, he felt a distinct sense of pity for her.

Determined to be in the courtroom early, Harry hurried to the lifts and punched the button to take him down to Level Ten. _Courtroom Four… Ah, yes… Second door on the left…_ He pushed the heavy wooden door open, and slid into one of the stone benches that lined the semi-circular room. A large wizard emerged from the shadows. 'Witnesses wait in there,' he informed Harry politely, pointing to a door set in the wall. Harry nodded to the Hit Wizard and slipped into the small room, where he would wait. Narcissa was already seated in the room. She sat ramrod straight in the hard-backed chair, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She wore Muggle clothing – a simple dress with a thin, matching cardigan, her cloak draped over the back of her chair. Her hair was wound into a sedate knot, low on the back of her head. She put Harry in mind of the teacher he'd had when he was eight.

'Is there something on my face?' Narcissa inquired politely.

'What?'

'You're staring rather intently,' she said. 'I was merely attempting to ascertain if there was some reason for it.'

Harry ducked his head at his blatant breach of manners and hastily dropped into a chair, lacing his fingers together. 'N-n-n-no,' he stammered. 'Sorry.'

'I've been trying to decide since November, when the Wizengamot informed me you would speak on my behalf, if you were either extraordinarily brave or incredibly stupid,' Narcissa said coolly.

'I suppose it depends on what you believe,' Harry said with a shrug.

'Aren't you worried about alienating _your_ side?'

Harry's gaze flew from its perusal of his seldom-worn black Oxfords to Narcissa. 'There are no sides,' he said simply. 'Not anymore.'

Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she examined Harry. 'If that's what helps you sleep at night.'

The minutes ticked by slowly.

Harry tried to resist the urge to check his watch for the hundredth time. It felt like they'd been sitting in that room for days, but it had only been less than thirty minutes. The door opened, and the Hit Wizard who had shown Harry into the room earlier stuck his head inside. 'They're ready for you,' he informed Harry and Narcissa. Harry hung back, allowing Narcissa to precede him from the room.

The Hit Wizard gestured for Harry to sit on a bench off to the side, and he guided Narcissa to the large chair in the middle of the room. Harry turned his attention to the assembled Wizengamot and counted to himself. Only a dozen of them sat in the stands in front of Narcissa. The gallery was empty, save for a few reporters. Harry didn't figure that either Draco or Lucius would be there. He had thought perhaps Andromeda might have come, but it was probably going to take years before either of them could resume something resembling a normal familial relationship, if at all.

One of the Wizengamot member rose to her feet. 'The trial of Narcissa Black Malfoy will come to order.' She turned to what was obviously a junior member of someone's staff, who was recording the proceedings. 'This trial will be led by Adrienne Towson, and recorded by Wayne Hopkins.' She sat down and folded her hands in front of her. 'Mrs. Malfoy, you have been accused of aiding and abetting Lord Voldemort and actively supporting the Death Eaters. How do you plead?'

Narcissa's head was high as she gazed at Towson. 'Guilty,' she said firmly, but quietly.

Towson nodded to the person on her left. He stood and addressed Narcissa. 'Please display your left arm, Mrs. Malfoy.' Narcissa calmly pushed back the sleeve of the cardigan and turned her arm over. The skin was smooth and unblemished. 'As you can see Mrs. Malfoy does not bear the Dark Mark,' the man said to the rest of the Wizengamot. Harry recognized him from the preliminary hearings four months ago.

'Lots of people that supported You-Know-Who didn't have the Mark,' argued another member.

'And they weren't married to one of his most ardent supporters,' someone else interjected.

Narcissa's chin lifted just a fraction higher. She gazed at the man for a moment, before speaking. 'I will admit that for most of my life, I did believe in Voldemort's notions of blood purity. It is hardly unusual for a child to maintain their parents' beliefs.'

'And you've changed your mind? Just like that?' an older woman called down from her perch behind Towson.

Narcissa's eyes dropped to a spot on the floor several feet in front of her. 'One may believe in blood purity,' she murmured. 'But it does not always stand to reason that belief translates into a regard for human life, regardless of the blood flowing through its veins.' A muscle jumped in her jaw. 'That, madam, is when my beliefs began to change.'

'But you stayed with Voldemort's supporters,' a tiny witch said pointedly.

Narcissa's eyes snapped to the witch. Her hands clenched together imperceptibly. 'Would you have taken me in, had I appeared on your doorstep, seeking shelter or sanctuary?' she asked haughtily. Her gaze swept across the Wizengamot. 'Would any of you?' She waited for several agonizing moments, as they shifted uncomfortably, several of them suddenly interested in the papers before them.

Harry's mouth went suddenly dry. _Draco never told her…_ he thought wildly. _He never told her Dumbledore offered the two of them help before he died…_ Harry wondered what Narcissa's reactions might be when, or if, Draco ever admitted it to her.

'My life was at stake,' Narcissa said coldly. 'Mine and my son's. While not everyone commits the ultimate sacrifice in order to save their child,' she began with a glance at Harry, 'remaining in a situation that rapidly became untenable was the only option we had.'

'So you did it because you fancy yourself a good mother?' one wizard snorted skeptically. 'What mother in her right mind would allow their underage son to join the Death Eaters?'

'You think I _allowed_ that?' Narcissa blurted, her pale face growing pink in agitation. 'Why would I have _willingly_ allowed Draco to participate in a ritual that would not only scar him physically, but emotionally?' She pressed her lips together in an attempt to rein in her emotions. Exhaling strongly through her nose, Narcissa's eyes closed briefly. 'Had I made any move to intervene, I would have been killed. Mostly likely by my own sister, Bellatrix,' she confessed in a low voice. 'So afterward, I did everything I could to ensure that Draco would remain safe. Or as safe as he could be.'

'So you were complicit in plotting the death of Albus Dumbledore as well?' Towson asked.

'No.' Narcissa said it with an air of finality. 'I did not aid Draco directly. I am not a Death Eater, you see, nor was I part of Voldemort's inner circle, despite the status of first my husband, then my son.' She looked at her hands, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. 'I had no knowledge that Draco was trying to repair the Vanishing Cabinet until after Dumbledore's death.' Her lips trembled. 'The most I did was beg Severus Snape to help him complete the task Voldemort set Draco.'

'And what of last year, when you opened your home to Voldemort and his followers?' demanded a burly wizard from the top row of seats.

'If you could tell me how I would be able to refuse Voldemort and still live afterward, then that's what I would have done,' Narcissa snapped coldly. 'If I had informed Voldemort my home was simply not available for his headquarters, I can wholeheartedly assure you neither of us would be in this position,' she added dryly.

'Can you tell us how Draco came to be initiated into the Death Eaters?' an older witch asked quietly.

'Because Lucius failed,' Narcissa stated. 'Lucius was supposed to steal some sort of prophecy from the Department of Mysteries.' Again, she glanced sideways at Harry before continuing. 'But he was thwarted.' The corner of her mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. 'By a group of underage witches and wizards.' A mischievous light fluttered over her face for a moment, and Harry knew she enjoyed reminding the Ministry that six underage students had done more in that opening fight against Voldemort than they had. Just as quickly, however, the cool, aloof mask slipped back into place. 'I do not believe – not for a second – Draco's initiation, as you call it, was anything but a punishment. For all three of us.'

'What was the ritual You-Know-Who employed in the initiation?' asked a witch on Towson's right side.

Narcissa closed her eyes. She didn't remember much of what had been said, and admitted as much. Bellatrix's face loomed in her memory, sneering at Draco's reluctance to take the Mark. Narcissa could not recall what Bellatrix had said to Draco, but she could see his pale face slowly grow paler, until the only color that remained was in the shadows that ringed his eyes.

_Bellatrix had grasped Draco's arm above the elbow in a vicious pinch Narcissa remembered from her childhood. It didn't take much pressure to render the victim blind and deaf to anything except the pain radiating from that one area. Bellatrix had propelled Draco into the large, airy room that had once been a ballroom in happier days. Bellatrix released Draco's elbow, only to capture his left wrist in her claw-like hand. She used her wand to slice his shirt open, and the flutter of the white sleeve glimmered in the darkened room. Narcissa could smell blood. It came from a deep cut that welled and oozed blood on Draco's wiry bicep. The blood trailed down the side of his arm in a rivulet that dripped to the parquet floor beneath. Narcissa could see the involuntary tears of pain that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. Bellatrix held Draco's left arm out rigidly, her other hand wandering over Draco. Every muscle of his body was clenched in dismay and fear. Bellatrix was whispering something to Draco. Something that she seemed to derive great pleasure from saying. Then Voldemort loomed over them, his skeletal wand held lightly in his abnormally long fingers. The wand lightly caressed over Draco's smooth, fair skin. Mercifully, Draco refrained from shuddering in distaste, but Narcissa could see the wave of gooseflesh erupt over her son's skin. Voldemort brought his wand up with a flourish, the tip glowing with a sickly green light and brought it down against her son's flesh._

_It burned. Narcissa could smell the singed hair and skin. She stared at Draco, willing him not to cry out. Draco stiffened, and the tears he'd manfully struggled to hold back spilled over the sharp planes of his cheeks._

_Fortunately for Draco, his facial expression remained stoically blank._

_Bellatrix laughed cruelly. She didn't know any other way to laugh…_

_As soon as the last of the tattoo had been drawn, Voldemort held his wand hovering over Draco. It plunged down without warning, the tip pressing into Draco's already-abused skin. Draco's arm jerked in Bellatrix's grasp, every vestige of color in his face gone. The Dark Mark turned jet-black. Seemingly satisfied, Voldemort turned and swept from the room, Bellatrix half a step behind him._

_Draco stared at his arm in disbelief, his breathing harsh in the suddenly silent room. His wide grey eyes bore into hers. 'Help me…' he mouthed._

Narcissa shook herself slightly, startled at the cool wetness on her cheeks. Someone pressed a folded square of soft cotton into her hand and she looked up to see Harry giving the Wizengamot a snort of disgust. 'Could we take a few minutes?' he demanded. 'And allow Mrs. Malfoy to collect herself? Like the compassionate human beings we're supposed to be?'

Towson glared at Harry, her mouth a 'O' of indignation. 'Very well,' she huffed. 'We'll take a ten-minute recess.' She glanced at Narcissa. 'Someone will escort you to the ladies' toilets at the end of the corridor.'

Narcissa nodded and stumbled blindly to the door, following the burly Hit Wizard the few feet to the door marked 'Ladies'. She slipped inside and leaned against the door with a sigh. 'I hate this,' she murmured.

Harry sat in the large chair, hoping his face didn't betray how nervous he was. 'Mr. Potter,' Towson began. 'Why did you decide to speak on Mrs. Malfoy's behalf? It seems to be a bit unusual, given the animosity between yourself and her family.'

Harry looked at the witch impassively. 'If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have been able to defeat Riddle,' he said flatly.

'But didn't she correctly identify Hermione Granger when the three of you were captured by Fenrir Greyback in April?' demanded one of the wizards.

'She did,' Harry admitted. 'I never maintained she was totally blameless,' he added contemptuously. 'But with her sister in her house, I don't think she fancied she had a choice.'

'People always have choices,' spat a witch. Harry remembered her from his own hearing before his fifth year. She had sided with Fudge to convict him of underage magic.

'Choice is sometimes an illusion,' Harry countered. 'There are times when we think we have one, but in reality, we really don't.' He rested his hands on his knees. 'Well, we do, but the consequences of choosing one way as opposed to the other are such that we really don't have a choice,' he argued.

'And you really believe that?' the witch scoffed.

Harry let a sardonic smile spread over his face. 'Ever since I found out who I was when I was eleven, I've never had a choice.'

'Someone else could have defeated You-Know-Who,' a wizard interjected.

'No,' Harry corrected quickly. 'It had to be me. I could have turned away, but I knew that if I did, everything I'd come to love about my life here would be gone.' He sat back in the chair; his head cocked to the side as he unflinchingly met the wizard's gaze. 'So, no. I didn't have a choice, did I?'

And middle-aged witch stood in the middle of the rows of Wizengamot members. 'Why do you say she made it possible for you to defeat Voldemort?'

Harry hesitated slightly. 'I went into the forest to meet Riddle, like he wanted,' he said in a low voice. 'He sent a Killing curse at me.' Harry shrugged. 'Obviously, it didn't work.'

'Why didn't it?' another wizard asked curiously.

Harry stared levelly at the wizard. _Pretend it's Snape… You lied to him loads of times, and I'll bet my broom he's not a Legilimens, either…_ 'I don't know,' he said, with the slight air of arrogance that had graced some of his more contentious dealings with the late Hogwarts professor. 'He wasn't using his own wand, and anyone who knows basic wand lore knows if you're not a wand's master, it doesn't work as well for you,' he said off-handedly.

'But a Killing curse?' the wizard said skeptically.

'I honestly couldn't tell you,' Harry demurred. 'But all I know is that I lost consciousness. The next thing I knew, Mrs. Malfoy was bending over me, on Riddle's orders, to see if I was alive or not.' Harry's eyes slowly raked over the assembled Wizengamot. 'She lied. She said I was dead, so Riddle could attempt to invade the castle, and she could go in as part of the invading army. She lied so she could find her son in the castle. In the melee that followed, she never once tried to hex, jinx, or curse anyone.'

'That's hardly altruistic,' murmured a younger witch.

'Who cares?' Harry hissed, anger rising. 'Who bloody cares about why she did it? The fact remains if she hadn't lied to protect me; none of us would be here.' His mouth snapped shut and his jaw clenched painfully.

Towson glanced at the other members of the Wizengamot. She gathered them together in a small huddle, then swept her wand in a wide arc over them. The soft buzzing sound of their whispers was abruptly cut off. Harry could see them frantically talking to each other, arms waving as they gesticulated wildly to make their point. Narcissa stared at them, her face drawn and wan in the flickering torchlight. She glanced at Harry sitting in the chair next to her. 'Do you still not care if they think you're mad?' she asked idly, as if she had done nothing more than inquired about the weather.

'I don't,' Harry told her. 'It's my conscience I'd have to live with, and that lot doesn't follow me home or make it difficult for me to sleep,' he added. 'Azkaban destroys people,' he whispered hoarsely. 'I couldn't let them do to you what they did to Sirius.' He swallowed past the lump in his throat. 'I have a feeling that what they might do to you anyway will be just as bad…' The words died as Towson's wand flicked, lifting the charm.

Towson remained standing while the others resumed their seats behind her. 'Narcissa Black Malfoy. The assembled members of the Wizengamot find you guilty for aiding and abetting Voldemort during the war. But your actions did have a rather self-preservational bent to them,' she added grudgingly. 'As you were not directly involved in any of the direct attacks on Muggles, Muggle-borns, or the Ministry, we cannot sentence you to a lengthy sentence in Azkaban. And seeing as how you have cooperated with this investigation, we have decided to forgo a sentence in Azkaban at all.' Narcissa's shoulders slumped slightly. 'However, you shall serve a sentence of no less than one year of confinement to your house and the grounds of a distance no more than twenty yards from the perimeter of the house itself. All visitors must undergo a background check by the Aurors before they are allowed to enter the house. You will be under constant surveillance for the duration of your sentence. Do you understand?'

Narcissa's chin lifted. 'I do.'

'You are also fined a sum of three thousand Galleons, to be donated to a fund for the support of the children left orphaned by this war.'

'I understand,' Narcissa murmured.

'Very well,' Towson said. 'This hearing is adjourned.' The Wizengamot filed out of the courtroom.

Narcissa rose gracefully to her feet, inclining her head at the stocky Hit Wizard who approached them. 'I suppose you are assigned to escort me home?'

'Yes, ma'am. I am.'

Narcissa turned to Harry. She seemed to want to say something, but instead, she just gave Harry a short nod and followed the Hit Wizard out of the room.


	46. Running the Gauntlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'If Mr. Malfoy used an Unforgiveable in the case of Miss Bell and Madam Rosmerta, according to our own laws, he ought to be in Azkaban right now.'
> 
> Harry felt his head spin. 'Then you'll have to put me in there, too,' he said, his voice sounding like it came from a great distance away. 'I've used them a couple of times. I didn't particularly enjoy it.' Liar, a small voice inside him said. He'd enjoyed it immensely when he'd performed a Cruciatus curse on Amycus Carrow. He could hear the gasp from the spectators. It gave him a grim measure of satisfaction. Ha-bloody-ha, he scoffed to himself. Turns out little Harry Potter isn't quite so perfect after all.

The swell of sound emanating from the assembled reporters clustered in front of the lifts on Level Two told Peter Wilson that Harry had returned from Narcissa Malfoy's trial before he so much as laid eyes on the boy. Harry doggedly ignored the reporters, murmuring, 'No comment,' as he slogged through the mass of people, keeping his eyes fixed on the toes of his shoes, gratefully diving into his cubicle, and setting the charm that was the equivalent of closing and locking the door.

Peter rounded the corner of the maze of cubicles and studied the assembled witches and wizards, his hands in his pockets. Sighing, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. It got their attention. 'Right. He's said all that he's going to say and it's no use camping outside his cubicle, waiting for something else. I suggest you leave, before I have you bodily removed,' he told them mildly.

'So…' A witch extricated herself from the group. Peter heaved a sigh. That square, mannish face would have been recognizable, even if she hadn't been on the slightly unkempt side. 'Do you do this often? Grant Harry Potter special treatment that you wouldn't do for any other Auror under your supervision?'

Peter exhaled through his nose. 'Ms. Skeeter, I treat Mr. Potter the same as any other Auror. No better and no worse.' He gestured toward the lifts. 'Good day.' He glared at them until one by one, they left, muttering all manner of unkind things. Once the reporters had left, he lifted the charm on Harry's cubicle. Harry sat in the chair behind his desk, staring into space. 'Go home.'

Harry jumped. 'What?'

'Go home. Draco's trial is in two days. Go home right now and stay there until then.'

Harry's shoulders hunched. He had heard Rita Skeeter's grating voice outside the cubicle. 'I don't need to leave, I can still –'

Peter's hand waved through the air, cutting off Harry's protests. 'That's an order.'

Harry glanced uneasily at his watch. It was barely noon. Molly would bombard him with all manner of questions about why he was home so early. He picked up his bag and threw is over his shoulder. 'What am I going to do with the rest of the day?'

'Whatever you want.' Peter stepped aside as Harry walked out of the cubicle. 'Just avoid Diagon Alley or the Leaky Cauldron.'

'Muggle London it is,' Harry mumbled, trudging to the lifts. 'What time is the next trial?'

'Ten o' clock. It's in… Well, it's in Courtroom Ten,' Peter said haltingly.

Harry's eyes flew up to Peter's. 'Courtroom Ten?' he asked faintly. 'Oh. Courtroom Ten…' His fingers fumbled with the clasp of his bag. 'I see…'

'There are those in the Ministry who want to make examples of them. If they could make it a public flogging, they would.'

Harry punched the button for the lift, a little harder than was necessary. 'It is a public flogging,' he spat. 'Just without the whips.' He strode onto the lift and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

* * *

Hermione pushed a thick sheaf of parchment across the table to Ginny. 'Could you read that for me?'

Ginny chased a few carrot slices floating in her soup around the bowl with the spoon, and glanced over the first page. 'What is this?'

'My translation project for Ancient Runes.'

Ginny quickly scanned the first story. 'It's good. I remember Mum reading these to us when Ron and I were small. But this is lots better. Not as old-fashioned.'

'But it's the same story,' Hermione said in bemusement.

Ginny moved a basket of bread rolls aside and turned the parchment around. 'Yeah, but it's… I don't want to say modern, but…'

'It doesn't sound like someone's great-auntie,' Hermione finished.

'Yes!' Ginny exclaimed. 'Exactly.'

Hermione smiled in satisfaction. 'Brilliant.'

'You've been around Ron and Harry too much,' Ginny quipped.

Hermione laughed and shook her head. 'Not until I start saying "blimey" after everything that surprises me.' The laughter faded and she leafed through the parchment. When she came to the last story, she tapped it with her wand, producing a duplicate. 'I need you to do something for me…'

'Of course.'

'Send this to Harry for me. Tell him, if he doesn't like it, I'll not publish it.'

Ginny frowned. 'Why me? Why don't you do it?'

Hermione bit her lip. 'I think he'll take it better from you. It's sort of about him…'

Ginny's eyes dropped to the parchment. They widened when she saw the title written in Hermione's neat hand. 'You don't mention him and the… The _things_ , do you?'

'No.' Hermione toyed with her fork. 'But you know how touchy he can get. No offense,' she added quickly. 'I love Harry like he's my brother, but…'

'He gets moody,' Ginny agreed.

'Yeah.'

'I'll send an owl to him by the end of the week.' Ginny resumed her interrupted lunch and Hermione's shoulders relaxed slightly as she began to pick at her abandoned casserole.

'Have you made a decision about which Quidditch team you want to play for yet?'

Ginny's spoon dropped from her fingers, clattering against the edge of the bowl. 'No.' She raked her fingers through her hair. 'All three say the same thing. Tryouts with the team in July, where I end up is based on that. None of them promise anything more than the practice squad.'

'What's that?' Hermione blurted. 'What I know about Quidditch fits on the tip of a quill.'

'It's the squad that the regular players play against in team practices,' Ginny explained patiently. 'Sometimes they put young players on it to get them used to the pace of the professional game. If you're still on the practice squad after two seasons…' She drew a line across her throat with an index finger.

'But you won't end up on the practice squad,' Hermione said confidently. 'Is there anything that might make you reject one of the offers?'

'Kenmare,' Ginny said after a long pause. 'Even with the Floo and Apparition, it's a bit too far from home…'

'What about the other two?'

Ginny pushed her bowl aside. 'Holyhead and Tutshill. Both of them are in Wales. Tutshill's not terribly far from Ottery-St.-Catchpole, and Holyhead's further north, but Charlie's there now.' She reached for a bread roll and began to methodically rip it shreds. 'If I sign with Tutshill, Mum might expect me to stay at the Burrow.'

'And you don't want that,' Hermione stated.

Ginny gave her a severe look. 'Do you want to live with _your_ mum and dad when you finish school?'

'Not especially…'

'And Holyhead… It's all women players…'

'What's wrong with that?' Hermione chuckled.

'Nothing,' Ginny said hastily. 'I think it's amazing they've been around so long. They're one of the oldest currently active teams, and they've always been an all-witch team.' She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. 'I've never been around women that much. Just the ones here. Not very many girls in my class and even the Gryffindor team is mostly boys…'

Hermione felt her brows rise. 'And that's something to banish them to the discard pile?'

Ginny thoughtfully pushed a piece of the bread roll around the table. 'No… It might be nice. The few times I've met Gwenog Jones, she seems like an all right sort. Doesn't mince words or try to hide behind a load of flowery language. And for the most part, her players don't find themselves in the pages of the tabloids. Either they're all exceedingly discreet or they eat, breathe, and sleep Quidditch.'

Hermione glanced at her watch. 'Damn. I'm going to be late for Arithmancy… But I think that's your answer, don't you think?' She grabbed her bag and took off for the Arithmancy classroom at a run.

'I think I do,' Ginny murmured.

* * *

Harry boarded the train at Charing Cross and slumped in a seat. He thought he might spend the rest of the afternoon at the zoo. It was relatively peaceful there, and the chances of him running into someone from the wizarding world were low, but he was restless. He felt trapped inside the train and stood up, as the train approached the next stop at Piccadilly Circus. Harry lunged for the sliding doors and ran up the stairs to the street. He took a deep breath, feeling some of the tightness in his chest subside. He stood on the pavement, adjusting the strap of his bag. People rushed by him, into shops and cafés. He might have been invisible for the attention the others spared him.

He ambled down the street, stopping to look in shop windows. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to be completely anonymous. Harry felt a small smile lift his mouth. He nearly passed a nondescript brick building, but a small hand-lettered sign caught his eye. _Flat To Let_. Harry drifted toward the building and opened the door, quite without thinking. An elderly man emerged from the flat just off the foyer. 'Can I help you at all?'

Feeling inexplicably shy, Harry mumbled, 'There's a flat available?'

'Top floor. Door on the left side of the landing. Just _Alohamora_ the door to go in.'

Harry's head snapped up and he gaped at the man. 'I'm sorry?' he stammered.

The man chuckled, displaying the handle of his own wand. 'I know who you are, lad. Had to have lived in a cave for the last five years to not know you.' He gestured toward the stairs. 'Go on. The top two floors are reserved for magic folk. Fireplaces are connected to the Floo. Can Apparate from the landing, if you want. Flat's got a sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Close to the Leaky Cauldron. It's a pretty quiet building. People keep to themselves, and in this neighborhood, nobody'll look at you twice.'

Harry gazed doubtfully at him. 'Are you sure?'

The man wheezed with laughter. 'Look out in the street. You're so normal-looking, the rest of 'em won't notice you.'

Harry's head swiveled and just at that moment two rather tall, stocky, but expertly made-up, and perfectly-coiffed women strode by. 'Blimey. Those are two, erm, interesting women…'

'That's Bob and Ted.'

'Bob and Ted?'

'Yeah. They live in a flat on the first floor. Perform in some cabaret in Piccadilly Circus.' At Harry's continued baffled expression, the man sighed. 'They're blokes, lad. Like to dress up like birds.' He shrugged. 'Live and let live, I say. They were great friends with my wife.' He patted Harry's shoulder. 'See? Nobody'll notice you round here unless you want them to.'

'That's a selling point,' Harry muttered.

'Go on up, then. Look around. Take your time.'

Harry slowly climbed the stairs. 'Five flights… No worse than going up to the attic at the Burrow…' He went to the door the landlord had indicated and tapped it with his wand. It swung open, creaking softly. Harry peered through the gap in the door and his mouth fell open. Running down the center of the flat was a large room. The polished hardwood floor changed to black-and-white tile as it passed under an archway. Harry walked through the sitting room into the kitchen, letting his fingers trail over the counters. He twisted a few knobs on the stove, turned on the tap at the sink, and peered into the empty refrigerator. There was a large window that opened onto a wide ledge, surrounded by a wrought-iron railing. It wasn't what Harry would term a balcony, but he reasoned he could fit a chair or two out there if the weather was nice. The smaller bedroom was just off the kitchen. Even though it was a bit narrow, it was full of light from the windows. He tiptoed into the larger of the two bedrooms, grinning slightly. He could have a larger bed, and Teddy could sleep in the other bedroom on weekends. Harry hadn't planned on giving the bathroom more than a cursory glance. Bathrooms weren't place to tarry, in his experience. The Dursleys had allowed him just enough time to wash or use the toilet, and he'd had to share with four other boys at school. There were five of them at the Burrow, six when Ginny was home for a holiday, seven if Hermione was staying over the night. The bathroom itself wasn't overly large; it was perhaps the same size as the one in the Burrow. But without the clutter of five people, it seemed much bigger. Feeling slightly self-conscious, Harry toed his shoes off and awkwardly climbed into the bathtub. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest at first, then glancing over his shoulder, even though he knew perfectly well, he was alone, then eased his feet out in front of him. Feeling more than a bit foolish, Harry draped his arms over the sides, wondering how it might feel after a day like today to come home and loll in a hot bath for hours.

Harry contemplated his options. Stay in the Burrow indefinitely, which he knew Molly wouldn't mind, but at some point, he'd have to go out on his own. Wait for Ron to approach George about the flat over the shop, and even then, the flat wasn't quite large enough for the two of them, plus Hermione and Ginny, as well as Teddy. And even then, Harry was well cognizant of the fact Ron would have something to say about it if Ginny stayed the night. Or, he could take this flat. This perfectly suitable flat. Harry leaned back in the bathtub and stared at the ceiling. 'Right…' he breathed. 'Stay in the Burrow for now or move here.' He searched his pockets for a spare Knut. 'Heads the Burrow, tails, here…'

[…]

Harry stacked his hands behind his head, waiting for Ron to settle into his bed. 'I let a flat today,' he said softly.

Ron sat up suddenly in a tangle of bedding. 'You did?'

'Yeah…'

'Where? How…?'

'It's in London. In Soho… And this afternoon… I was walking around after Narcissa Malfoy's trial, trying to avoid the mob of reporters. Just happened to find it.'

'You want to live there alone?' Ron asked, after a moment's hesitation.

Harry sat up, reaching for his glasses, shoving him on his nose. 'I thought, maybe…' He wrapped his arms around his knees. 'I know you and I talked about the flat over the shop…'

Ron's face displayed unmistakable relief. 'Oh, thank Merlin… I sort of want to live there with Hermione when she finishes school, and well, there's just the one bedroom.' He and Harry shared a look with each other before they began to laugh. Ron wiped tears from his cheeks. 'Oh, Godric… I've been trying to figure out how to tell you that without hurting your feelings.'

Harry flopped back into the camp bed, snorting with mirth. 'I've been trying to figure out how to tell you I found this place all afternoon,' he chuckled. 'And here we both were, wanting the same thing.' He blew out a long breath. 'You're still my best mate, Ron. Doesn't matter where we live, or whether I end up with Ginny. You'll always be best mate.'

Ron blushed and rolled the edge of the sheet between this thumb and forefinger. 'Same here, Harry…' He pushed his feet under the bedding and began the process of preparing for sleep. 'When are you moving?'

'April first.'

'That's handy,' Ron remarked. 'Ginny and Hermione'll be home for the holiday.'

'Yeah. I thought I'd ask Dean, Seamus, and Neville to help. Luna, too.'

'That ought to be fun,' Ron commented. 'Wonder if Luna'll arrange your furniture to suit some barmy superstition she's got.' He turned on his side, propping his head in his hand. 'So when are you going to tell Mum and Dad?'

'I haven't quite figured that out yet…'

Ron yawned widely and pulled the bedding over his shoulders. 'Better do it soon. First of April's only two weeks away.'

'Don't remind me,' Harry sighed.

* * *

Harry slipped into the small room off Courtroom Ten. Draco was already there, with a hulking Hit Wizard standing behind him. To his surprise, Narcissa sat next to him, accompanied by her own Hit Wizard. 'I didn't expect to see you here,' Harry said in a low voice. 'After what happened on Monday.'

'The Minister graciously granted me permission to attend today,' Narcissa replied calmly. 'It was most kind of him.'

Draco looked terrible. He looked even worse than he had their sixth year. He was pale, shaking, with deep shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he might be sick any second. Mindful of the possibility, Harry took a seat as far away as possible. Draco perched stiffly in his chair, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. The door scraped open and a Hit Wizard poked his head through. 'Mr. Malfoy, they're ready for you,' he intoned quietly. The words were as effective as a Calming draught. As Draco rose to his feet, his hands unclenched and stopped shaking. He inhaled slowly, and his chin lifted just a fraction. All signs of his nervousness disappeared, and his customary hauteur draped over him, like a cloak. All in all, it was a remarkable transformation.

Draco followed the Hit Wizard out into the courtroom. He stopped at the large chair in the middle of the floor, glancing at it fearfully. Harry knew how he felt, especially when the chains looped around the arms clinked threateningly as Draco lowered himself into it. Harry took his place off to the side, gazing at the assembled Wizengamot. All of them were there, including Shacklebolt. Harry toyed with a button on his jacket while Shacklebolt completed the procedures to open the trial. He eyed the reporters, clustered like vultures. _Waiting to feast on the carcass of Malfoy's life_ , Harry thought sourly.

'Draco Magnus Malfoy, you have been accused of willingly joining the Death Eaters, of plotting the murder Albus Dumbledore, of using an Unforgiveable curse, and of conspiring to bring Death Eaters into the grounds of Hogwarts with the intention of destroying the school. How do you plead?'

Draco licked his dry lips before he said softly, but firmly, 'Guilty.'

'Could ye show us yer arm, then, lad?' called out a frail, elderly wizard. 'Jus' fer proof, ye understand.'

Draco's eyes closed briefly, and he stood, doffing his dark jacket and draping it over the arm of the chair. He removed the cufflink from the sleeve the crisp white shirt he wore and resolutely rolled it back to his elbow. The tattoo was still there, although it had lightened considerably since Harry had first seen it on Draco's arm nearly two years ago. 'It's been fading since _he_ died,' Draco said gruffly. He pushed the sleeve back down to his wrist, and buttoned the cuff brusquely, then picked up his jacked and jerked it back over his arms.

'Mr. Malfoy, how did you come to be a Death Eater?' Shacklebolt asked.

Draco's lips pressed together. He said nothing further.

'According to the pre-trial transcripts and your mother's testimony, you were forced to do so,' Shacklebolt persisted.

Harry could see Draco's jaw clench.

Shacklebolt refrained from heaving a sigh. 'Mr. Malfoy, you have every right to speak in your own defense.'

A muscle in Draco's jaw jumped, but his lips remained stubbornly closed.

Shacklebolt ran a hand over his bald head. 'Why were you charged to kill Albus Dumbledore?'

One of Draco's eyebrows quirked upward slightly, but he didn't answer the question.

'Why didn't you correctly identify Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, or Hermione Granger when they were captured last year and brought to your house last April?'

Draco's face remained expressionless, and he still refused to speak.

'Why did you use an _Imperious_ curse on Madam Rosmerta?

Draco merely met Shacklebolt's eyes and remained silent.

Shacklebolt, it seemed, had reached the limits of his own patience. 'Aren't you going to say anything for yourself?' he exploded.

Draco's mouth opened. 'No.'

'Mr. Malfoy, are you aware of what the consequences of this course of action might be?' Shacklebolt asked quietly.

Harry thought he saw Draco gulp before he answered, 'Yes. I am.'

Shacklebolt turned to Harry. 'Mr. Potter, please describe the circumstances of your capture by Snatchers.'

Harry took a deep breath, and avoided looking at Draco. 'It was my fault, really. I always refused to refer to Voldemort as You-Know-Who, and Dumbledore had always called him either Voldemort, or by his birth name of Tom Riddle. I thought it was a bit mad to be afraid of a name, and didn't quite believe it when I was told they could trace us if we said the name Voldemort. It was habit, I guess. Anyway, we – Ron, Hermione, and me – were captured and taken to the Malfoy mansion. And even though Draco was pushed by his parents to identify us, he wouldn't do it. Why, I don't know. You'll have to ask him.'

'I would,' one wizard retorted dryly, 'but seeing as how the defendant won't say one way or another…'

'You've said he was offered sanctuary with the Order of the Phoenix by Dumbledore before he died,' a witch stated. 'For both him and his mother. Why didn't he take it?'

'I'm not a mind reader,' Harry said. 'He just said he didn't believe Dumbledore would be able to protect the both of them from Voldemort,' he added, noting how Draco's fingers convulsed over the arms of the chair each time he uttered the word, "Voldemort". 'The others were coming up the stairs, anyway. And Dumbledore wasn't well because of…' Harry stopped and tugged at his shirt collar. 'He wasn't well. And there wasn't really anywhere to hide on the tower –'

'If there wasn't anywhere to hide, where were you?' interrupted a witch.

'Under my Invisibility cloak,' Harry told her. 'We – Dumbledore, Malfoy, and I – couldn't have gotten away before Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, and the others fought their way to the top of the tower. That might have been a reason why he wouldn't take up Dumbledore on his offer. Maybe if Dumbledore had been able to get to him sooner…' Harry shrugged. 'But I suppose we'll never know, will we?'

'What about the Room of Requirement?' Shacklebolt asked.

'What about it?'

Shacklebolt's eyes narrowed at Harry, but he continued, 'You mentioned in your preliminary hearing that you, Ron, and Hermione had a bit of a skirmish in it with Draco and two of his friends.'

'Oh, that.' Harry scratched his nose, more to buy himself some time than out of any need to relieve an itch. 'Malfoy wanted to take us out alive. He wasn't interested in hexing us. His mate, Crabbe –'

'That would be Vincent Crabbe,' Shacklebolt clarified.

'Yeah, him. Crabbe tried to use the Killing curse on us. Then he set the room on fire with Fiendfyre. I don't think he quite knew what he'd done until it was too late. Killed him in the end.'

'But Draco had no part of that?' asked a wizard dubiously.

Harry shook his head. 'No. He managed to drag his other friend to safety. Probably saved his life.'

'And in the rest of the battle?' inquired a witch.

'Spent more time trying to convince the other Death Eaters he was on their side than any actual fighting. He didn't have a wand at the time. I had his wand from when I Disarmed him at the mansion. He'd been using his mother's. It got lost in the Room of Requirement.' At that moment, Harry paused long enough to wonder how Narcissa had managed to procure another wand. _Maybe she has Bellatrix's…_ _I can't imagine Hermione would have continued to use it, especially after the war was over and Ollivander reopened his shop… I can't believe I've never asked…_

'Mr. Potter…?'

Harry shook himself. 'Sorry…'

'Do you need a recess?'

'No, I'm all right.' Harry shifted in his chair. 'I gave Malfoy's wand back to him after the battle. I had my own wand and had no reason to keep his.'

'Going back to the winter and spring of nineteen ninety-seven…' one of the wizards behind Shacklebolt asked musingly. 'Katherine Bell, Evangeline Rosmerta, and Ronald Weasley…'

'Yes?' Harry responded in an almost bored tone of voice.

'If Mr. Malfoy used an Unforgiveable in the case of Miss Bell and Madam Rosmerta, according to our own laws, he ought to be in Azkaban right now.'

Harry felt his head spin. 'Then you'll have to put me in there, too,' he said, his voice sounding like it came from a great distance away. 'I've used them a couple of times. I didn't particularly enjoy it.' _Liar_ , a small voice inside him said. He'd enjoyed it immensely when he'd performed a Cruciatus curse on Amycus Carrow. He could hear the gasp from the spectators. It gave him a grim measure of satisfaction. _Ha-bloody-ha_ , he scoffed to himself. _Turns out little Harry Potter isn't quite so perfect after all._

Shacklebolt's voice murmured quietly, yet forcefully into the tides of whispers from the spectators. 'Mr. Potter's use of an Unforgivable had been reported to the Minister previous to this trial by none other than the current Headmistress of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall only felt it was right to do so, as she admitted her own guilt in the matter. And in light of the fact nobody was seriously injured, or killed by either of their actions, and they both occurred in the heat of a battle, the Minister regards this matter as closed.'

Harry felt a bead of sweat trickle down his chest. He nearly heaved a sigh of relief. 'Ron… Ron wasn't meant to drink the mead Professor Slughorn served him. It was supposed to go to Professor Dumbledore, but I guess Malfoy didn't know Slughorn as well as he thought he did. If Slughorn intercepted something tasty, he'd keep it for himself. That bottle of mead was, in Slughorn's estimation, a choice vintage.' Harry cut a sidelong glance at Draco before he added, 'Malfoy wasn't trying very hard. Too many people in his equation between himself and Dumbledore. He was doing enough to make it look like he was trying, but I don't think he really wanted to do it.'

'Thank you, Harry, I think we've heard enough,' Shacklebolt told him.

Draco sat stiffly in the chair while the Wizengamot argued amongst themselves. He stared straight ahead, fingers clutching the edges of the arms of the chair.

It took a long time for them to decide Draco's fate. Harry watched the minutes tick by on Fabian Prewett's watch. First thirty minutes, then an hour passed, and they were no closer to a decision than they'd been when they started. Draco's fingertips began to beat a muffled rhythm on the arm of the chair. Harry bit back a yawn. It was well past one in the afternoon, when Shacklebolt lifted the Silencing charm around the Wizengamot.

'Draco Malfoy…' Shacklebolt consulted a scrap of parchment. 'Normally, a Death Eater would receive an automatic sentence in Azkaban. However, due to the information we've received from your mother's trial and from the evidence submitted by Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and Severus Snape, we – the Wizengamot – are prepared to grant you a measure of clemency. While you were charged with the task of murdering Dumbledore, it was by all measures a colossal failure. However, in your attempts to murder Dumbledore, you nearly killed Katherine Bell and Ronald Weasley in the process. That cannot pass unpunished. And even though you were unwillingly made a Death Eater, you were still a Death Eater.' Draco nodded once. 'You are hereby sentenced to house arrest for no more than one year from today. You are confined to the Malfoy mansion and a distance of no more than twenty yards from the perimeter of the house. You will also pay a sum of twelve thousand Galleons to the fund to aid and support children left orphaned by the war. Any and all visitors to your house must undergo a background check by the Aurors. You are also sentenced to probation for the remainder of your life. You will be under surveillance by the Aurors for the rest of your life. Twice a year, you must submit to interviews about your whereabouts and activities. Normally, we would use Legilimancy, but since you're a rather skilled Occlumens, you will drink the strongest Veritaserum it is possible to brew. Your wand can be checked at will for Unforgivable curses. You may not travel outside the environs of England, Ireland, Wales, or Scotland, unless you have permission from Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister of Magic. Travel within Britain and Ireland is possible, but only after first informing the Aurors where you intend to travel.

'Do you understand these terms?'

'Yes,' Draco rasped.

'Very well, it begins as soon as this trial is adjourned.'

Draco nodded mutely. He looked a little lost.

Shacklebolt gathered the piles of parchment on the table in front of him. 'This trial is adjourned.'

Draco stood and numbly stumbled to the door, leading to the room where Narcissa waited. The door closed with a _thud_ behind him.

To Harry it sounded like the door slamming on Draco's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this between July 2008 and August 2010. Back then, Draco didn't have a middle name in the HP Lexicon or the HP Wiki, so I gave him one. I thought I'd continue the Malfoy Latin-themed names… And I couldn't find a first name for Madam Rosmerta, either, and Evangeline popped into my head (no, I hadn't been watching Nanny McPhee, but it's a great movie!). I thought a fanciful name would go well with a lady who wears sparkly high heels.


	47. Worth a Thousand Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'He cocked up fetching the prophecy about Voldemort and me from the Ministry,' he began, holding up one finger. 'Draco couldn't manage to kill Dumbledore properly.' He added a second finger. 'His wand failed to produce the desired result against me, although that's not really his fault, but I doubt Voldemort would have seen it that way.' A third finger joined the first two. 'I think at that point, with the balance of the war on their side, he was looking for a way to get back into Voldemort's good graces.' Harry let an insolent smile curve his mouth. 'Can't say I'd like to be treated like a spaniel myself, going back to someone who kicks you all the time.' He shrugged carelessly. 'But if that's how you prefer to gain your sense of self-worth.'
> 
> 'It didn't bother you?' 
> 
> Harry laughed in derision. 'Of course it did, at the time. I'd hardly call it one of the highlights of that year,' he scoffed. He leaned back in the chair, lacing his hands together. 'I'm not doing this because I get a great deal of enjoyment in the matter. Bloody hell, the man was humiliated and scorned at every opportunity by the thing he served. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. And since that does happen to be Lucius Malfoy...'

Harry idly picked at the edge of a ragged fingernail, letting his thoughts drift. Shacklebolt was droning on, listing the charges levied against Lucius Malfoy. Courtroom Ten was packed to the rafters with reporters and spectators. He closed his burning eyes, badly wanting to press his cold fingertips to them, but highly aware anything he did would be picked apart and analyzed by not only the Wizengamot, but the press as well. Harry was tired. He was tired of rehashing the events of the previous year. Tired of feeling as if he needed to justify his decision to speak in defense of the Malfoys, although he understood why people might want to question his mental fitness. He was tired of everything he said getting filleted and diced until nothing resembling sense remained.

'Mr. Potter?' a youngish witch in the back of the Wizengamot called.

'Yes?' Harry replied warily. _Starting with me today, eh?_ His eyes narrowed slightly. _That's fine. Don't let them trip you up… They're just Bludgers… Bludgers in plum velvet robes._

'Assuming we hand down a sentence to Lucius Malfoy similar to the one we gave to his son, how would you address critics who believe your testimony was skewed in favor of Draco Malfoy and caused a known and acknowledged Death Eater to not only avoid Azkaban, but receive a much lighter sentence than he ought?' She sat back, staring at him expectantly.

Harry returned her gaze, his mind spinning. _What would Hermione say…?_ he thought. Then a whisper of a long-ago conversation brushed through his mind. _It's logic_ , he heard Hermione trill in his head. _A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic…_ Harry laced his fingers together. _That's it… Use logic._ He cleared his throat. 'Honestly, if I was ordered to stay inside for a year, I might not mind so much,' he said, with a hint of self-deprecation. 'Maybe it's not so bad now, but what happens in five years? Or twenty? When he's watched constantly and every move he makes is reported to the Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement? And practically has to ask permission to walk out the front door of his house? What happens when he wants to take his child to King's Cross for the train to Hogwarts? And has to account for everything he does, or practically says. He's not allowed to come and go as he pleases…' Harry speared the young witch with what he hoped as a look that was even a fraction as severe as one McGonagall would have given her. _Sirius wasn't in Azkaban in the end_ , he mused. _Was just as much imprisoned then as he was before…_ 'Azkaban is just walls. Now anyway. What you've given Draco Malfoy is a prison of tiny daily humiliations that are only going to get worse the older he gets. You've infantilized him,' he said scornfully. 'And someone like him,' he added, gesturing toward Lucius with his chin, 'losing his status and privilege, and possibly his right to carry a wand. You might as well as sentence him to live the rest of his life as a Muggle. If you do all of that, he'll be no better, legally, than the creatures he's helped suppress for years.' Harry shrugged and squarely met the witch's eyes. 'Humiliation.'

She seemed taken aback. 'I… I see…'

'I'm sure you do,' Harry muttered. _Actually, I'm sure you don't._

'And on that note,' Shacklebolt rumbled. 'Mr. Malfoy, what happened to your wand?'

'The Dark Lord took it,' Lucius drawled. 'And Potter somehow destroyed it.'

'Did you manage to acquire another one?' asked a wizard.

'No. The Dark Lord did not see fit to grant me another wand after mine was ruined. I've spent over a year unable to use magic, practically as useless as a Muggle because of it.' His upper lip curled in acute distaste.

'So you did absolutely nothing from the end of July nineteen ninety-seven until the end of the war?' asked an elderly witch skeptically.

'Aside from allowing my house to serve as a staging ground for the Dark Lord's machinations, no.'

'Why did you allow that?' a younger wizard asked.

'Unless I fancied myself in the mood to die, I had little choice in the matter,' Lucius admitted. 'One did not give the Dark Lord a negative reply to any of his…' He paused significantly. 'Requests. Not if you wanted to live to see the next sunrise.'

'Didn't Voldemort choose your house specifically because it has its own dungeon?' A stout middle-aged wizard called from his seat in the back.

'It was certainly a consideration,' Lucius said. 'And the Dark Lord enjoyed the comforts of my home, as well.' He cut a look at Harry, and added contemptuously, 'One would hardly expect him to stay in a hovel or in a house that had been defiled with Muggle-borns or blood-traitors,' he spat. 'My family has been of pure wizarding stock from the very beginning.'

'Did you know Voldemort intended to keep prisoners in your dungeons?' a witch asked.

'I did,' Lucius said.

'But why keep…' She consulted a file in her hand. ‘Garrick Ollivander and Luna Lovegood prisoner in the mansion? Why not just kill them, or put them in Azkaban like the others?'

'Because they served a purpose. He needed someone with knowledge of wand lore, so Ollivander lived, despite his inability to answer the Dark Lord's questions. And the Lovegood girl was merely a tool. Her father seemed to know things about Potter or his whereabouts according to that… that magazine… he published. If we held her, he might be more willing to speak. He proved to be useless and was thrown into Azkaban.'

'Did you intend for your son to join the Death Eaters?' a wizard asked.

Lucius blinked. It was one of the few times Harry had ever seen him flummoxed in any way.

'Mr. Malfoy? Did you intend for your son Draco to join the Death Eaters?' he repeated.

'No…' Lucius whispered. He looked surprised at his own answer. 'I didn't want him to join so young,' he explained. 'After he'd finished school, of course. And not before he had come of age. He was forced, and it was a punishment for my failings.' He looked uncomfortable at the level of candor he offered the Wizengamot.

'Did you participate in the final battle?' Shacklebolt asked.

'I had no wand,' Lucius snorted. 'I didn't even bother to try and take one from one of the dead.'

'It's true,' Harry said suddenly. 'He tried to persuade Voldemort to call off the attack. Ostensibly it was to keep anyone other than Voldemort from killing me, but really, it was to ensure Draco was still alive and could get out of the castle alive.'

Lucius gave Harry another contemptuous glance from the corner of his eye that Harry ignored.

'Mr. Malfoy what happened to all those Dark objects you hid in your dungeons?' an elderly wizard wheezed.

'I'd like to remind the Wizengamot,' Shacklebolt interjected, 'that Mr. Malfoy is not on trial for anything that might have occurred _before_ July of nineteen ninety-seven. That was done during his last trial after the battle at the Ministry in June nineteen ninety-six. By our own laws, we cannot try him for the exact same crime twice. After all, we've seen what can occur when we do not abide by our own laws,' he said dryly.

'I'd like a bit of clarification…' a young witch asked. 'Mr. Potter… Mr. Malfoy attempted to turn you over to Voldemort when you were captured last April, did he not?'

'He did.' Harry straightened the cuffs of his jacket. 'There was quite the argument over it. Who got the honor of summoning Voldemort to the mansion, whether or not Ron, Hermione, and I were in fact, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.' Harry smirked. 'Between Lucius and Bellatrix Lestrange, the two of them behaved like spoilt children with a toy they both wanted.'

'And he did that because…?'

'Well, think about it logically,' Harry sniffed. 'He cocked up fetching the prophecy about Voldemort and me from the Ministry,' he began, holding up one finger. 'Draco couldn't manage to kill Dumbledore properly.' He added a second finger. 'His wand failed to produce the desired result against me, although that's not really his fault, but I doubt Voldemort would have seen it that way.' A third finger joined the first two. 'I think at that point, with the balance of the war on their side, he was looking for a way to get back into Voldemort's good graces.' Harry let an insolent smile curve his mouth. 'Can't say I'd like to be treated like a spaniel myself, going back to someone who kicks you all the time.' He shrugged carelessly. 'But if that's how you prefer to gain your sense of self-worth…'

'It didn't bother you?' the witch pressed, bemused.

Harry laughed in derision. 'Of course it did, at the time. I'd hardly call it one of the highlights of that year,' he scoffed. He leaned back in the chair, lacing his hands together. 'I'm not doing this because I get a great deal of enjoyment in the matter. Bloody hell, the man was humiliated and scorned at every opportunity by the… _thing_ … he served. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. And since that does happen to be Lucius Malfoy…'

'Does anyone else have anything to ask, or do you think we've sufficiently gauged Mr. Malfoy's actions of the previous year?' Shacklebolt interjected, hiding a smile behind his hand. When no objections were forthcoming, he waved his wand in an expansive circle, silencing their conversation from the rest of Courtroom Ten.

'Why people insist on underestimating you, boy, I'll never know,' Lucius muttered from the corner of his mouth. 'You do well enough at having the last word on your own.'

Harry nodded once in acknowledgement.

The Wizengamot reached a decision regarding Lucius much more quickly than they had with Draco. In almost no time at all, Shacklebolt's wand removed the charm around them and he turned to face Lucius. 'Lucius Malfoy. You are an admitted Death Eater; however, you were unable to participate in the events of the previous year. That being said, while we cannot try you again for your prior crimes, we have taken your unfinished sentence in Azkaban under consideration.' Lucius paled slightly. 'You are sentenced to house arrest for no more than one year from today. You will be confined to the Malfoy mansion and a distance of no more than twenty yards from the perimeter of the house. You will also pay a sum of twenty thousand Galleons to the fund to aid and support children left orphaned by the war. Your house will be searched at random intervals for Dark or illegally enchanted objects. Any and all visitors to your house must undergo a background check by the Aurors. You are also sentenced to probation for the remainder of your life. You will be under surveillance by the Aurors for the rest of your life. Twice a year, you must submit to interviews about your whereabouts and activities. You will submit to Legilimency during your interviews to determine the veracity of your statements. You are not allowed a wand.' Lucius' mouth dropped open in shock. Shacklebolt blithely continued. 'You may not travel outside the environs of England, Ireland, Wales, or Scotland, unless you have permission from Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister of Magic from both the British Minister, as well as the Minister of the country to which you intend to travel. Travel within Britain and Ireland is possible, but only after first informing the Aurors where you intend to travel.' Shacklebolt inhaled slowly. 'Do you understand these terms?'

'I do,' Lucius said stiffly.

'Very well, then.' Shacklebolt gestured to the Hit Wizards standing on either side of the door in the wall. 'Mr. Malfoy, any breach of the terms of your probation will result in a sentence in Azkaban, the length of which shall be determined by the severity of your noncompliance.'

Harry thought if hatred could burn any hotter in Lucius' eyes, Shacklebolt might very well have suffered from severe burns. Lucius made as if to speak, but clamped his mouth shut, and turned on his heel, striding back through the door, head held high, ignoring the Hit Wizards trailing after him. When the door slammed shut behind them, Harry slumped in relief. _One battle done,_ he thought, _and one more to go…_

While April first was fast approaching, he had yet to inform Molly and Arthur of his imminent departure.

* * *

Harry heard the sounds of Celestina Warbeck drift from the sitting room. He looked at Teddy splashing in the bathtub, merrily getting everything wet, including his godfather. 'What do you think? It's after dinner... they're relaxing with the program on the wireless… Nothing untoward has happened in a while… Might not be a bad time to drop it on them that I'm moving out.'

Ron peered into the bathroom. 'Why don't you just go tell them? It's easy. "I'm moving out into my own flat in two weeks." See?'

Harry glanced at Ron over the rims of his glasses. 'Have you told them you want to move in with Hermione?'

'Erm…' Ron flushed. 'Not yet. But I've got a bit of time, don't I?'

'Hmmm-hmmm.' Harry lifted Teddy from the bath and began to dry him vigorously, making the toddler giggle. 'Sounds like you're procrastinating.'

'No… No… I'm just waiting for Hermione to finish school.'

Harry snorted, deftly pinning a clean nappy around Teddy. 'Right. Of course you are. And you're not scared of your mum's reaction at all, are you?'

'Of course not,' Ron scoffed.

'Then go tell her you're moving out this summer,' Harry challenged, pulling Teddy's pajamas on and pressing the poppers closed.

'You first,' Ron shot back. 'You're moving out sooner!'

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek and held out Teddy. 'Fine. Keep an eye on Teddy. He's too young to witness such carnage.'

'Too right,' Ron laughed, accepting the baby. 'Get on with it. The worst Mum will do is shout.' He ran a hand over Teddy's damp hair. 'Might send sparks at you… Light hex or two… Better put up a Shield charm, just in case, eh?'

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and clomped down the stairs. 'Bloody ridiculous. Defeated the Darkest wizard of all time, and I'm afraid to tell Molly I've found my own place,' he muttered.

He peered around the sitting room door. Molly and Arthur occupied the sofa, the sounds of Celestina Warbeck coming from the wireless next to it. 'Could I have a quick word?' he asked, feeling bashful about interrupting what had obviously been a rather private moment.

Molly flushed and smoothed her disordered hair. 'Certainly.'

Arthur straightened his askew glasses. 'Go on.'

'I was… I thought…' Harry took a deep breath and fiddled with his wand. 'I can't… I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me. Letting me live here the past year and putting up with everything – the reporters, seeing me through the injuries, taking on Teddy with me… But I… I, erm…' He took a deep breath. 'I've found this flat,' he said weakly.

'And you've let it?' Arthur guessed.

'Yeah,' Harry said, relieved he didn't have to say it aloud.

'Nonsense!' Molly pronounced. 'You're too young.'

'He's over age,' Arthur reminded her. 'Where is it?'

'In London.'

'Absolutely not,' Molly snapped. 'It's too dangerous there.'

'When are you planning to move?' Arthur asked.

'Two weeks,' Harry said faintly.

'TWO WEEKS?' Molly blurted, rising to her feet. A ball of maroon wool fell from her lap and unraveled as it rolled across the room.

Harry winced. He hated to bring any sort of distress to Molly. 'I've never had a place that's all my own,' he began. 'And I can't live here forever.'

'I realize that,' Molly said flatly. 'How long have you been planning this?'

Harry took a small step back. 'I just found it Monday,' he said quietly. 'It wasn't really an impulsive sort of decision, Molly,' he added. 'I've been thinking about doing something like this for a few months now.'

Molly pressed her lips together in a tight line, clearly unhappy.

'How did you find it, Harry?' Arthur asked into the tense silence.

'I was sent home early Monday, and was wandering around London to clear my head, and saw a sign for it, and had a look. Landlord's a wizard and he says I won't be bothered. It's in a Muggle neighborhood…'

Arthur's face lit up. 'Really? Does it have electricity?'

'Yeah…'

'Can I come see it sometime? The electricity?'

'Yeah… Sure.'

'Can I make toast?' Arthur asked eagerly. 'With one of those toastit-whatsits?'

'A toaster,' Harry supplied. 'And you can make all the toast you want.'

'Could we get back to the subject?' Molly said, glowering.

'Molly, I need to do this,' Harry said firmly. 'I've spent my entire life living somewhere else as what amounts to a houseguest. I've never had anywhere to live that's just mine. It's always been because of someone else's generosity or obligation. And in London, especially in Soho, I won't have to feel like I have to hide just to get a bit of peace and quiet. I need this,' he repeated. A wail floated from the floor above and Harry turned and made his way back to Ron, who was in the rocking chair in Bill's room, attempting to soothe Teddy.

'How'd it go?' he asked.

'She only shouted once, and no hexes,' Harry said thoughtfully. 'Thought she took it fairly well.'

'Did Mum use complete sentences?'

'Yeah.'

'Blimey.'

'You can say that again…' Harry jabbed his wand at the lamp next to the bed, and the light dimmed. Teddy was starting to droop in Ron's arms. 'I ought to send an owl to Neville and see if he can't help me move into the flat. And one to Gin. She can get word to Luna, Hermione, and Dean. And Seamus.'

'You ought to get another owl,' Ron observed, carefully settling Teddy in the cot.

'I know,' Harry sighed. 'I can't do it just yet…'

* * *

Giving up on sleep, Molly slid out of the bed she'd shared with Arthur for most of her life and pulled the worn dressing gown over her nightdress, pushing her feet into a pair of woolly slippers against the chill. With a sigh, she glanced at the small alarm clock ticking softly on the small night table on her side of the bed and grimaced. It was three in the morning and she was no closer to slumber than she had been when she'd climbed into bed five hours earlier.

She opened the door and tiptoed gracefully down the stairs, snickering to herself when they didn't creak or squeal. When she and Arthur had charmed them, they'd set it so the stairs recognized them and remained silent. When she came to the landing at the first floor, she opened a small cupboard across from Bill's old room and pulled her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown, wordlessly lighting the tip of it. She trained the narrow beam of light into the cupboard and searched its recesses until she found a carton and tugged it out, carrying it down to the kitchen. She tapped the teapot with her wand, then added tea leaves to the steaming water. While the tea steeped, she lifted the lid from the carton and began to sift through the small pile of photographs inside. Some were ones she or Arthur had taken, others were ones the boys had done.

She spread a handful out on the table and smiled. The Gryffindor team photograph taken during Harry's first year. He was dwarfed by the other players –even the girls – and the Quidditch robes nearly overwhelmed his small frame. There was one from the Christmas of Ginny's first year, with all of them wearing their new jumpers in front of the fire of the common room, Ron scowling in displeasure because his was maroon. Harry and Ron's fourth year at the Yule Ball, and only Harry's firm grip on Ron's elbow kept him in the photograph. She had to admit, the dress robes she had managed to find for Ron were on the frilly side, but at the time, it was what they could afford. Christmas the next year at Grimmauld Place. Her misty smile dimmed a little. She could still smell the damp, musty fug that seemed to have seeped into the walls there. Harry posing with Ron and Ginny as Gryffindor's Quidditch captain his sixth year. His seventeenth birthday party, before Scrimgeour ruined the muted festivities. The entire family at Ginny's seventeenth birthday the previous August.

Her hand hovered over a few photographs before she scooped up one of the smaller ones. She tapped it with her wand, duplicating it, then Summoned a frame, carefully inserting the photograph into it. Molly found a scrap of wrapping paper in a drawer and carefully wrapped the framed photograph.

Harry stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, his glasses dangling from his fingers. He pushed them on his nose and started a little when Molly swam into focus. 'Thirsty…' he mumbled, heading for the cupboard and taking out a glass and filling it with water.

'I know you're not mine and I can't tell you what to do,' Molly said tightly. 'I know that. To me, you're still that slightly lost and very confused eleven year-old boy at King's Cross asking how to get to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. I sometimes forget you're not as young as I think you are. Something Sirius and Remus attempted to persuade me of on more than one occasion. Apparently, it was unsuccessful,' she said, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation. 'I know you need to do this. It must be awfully difficult to try and be what everyone wants you to be, when you still feel like you have to ask permission to go out at night. And you're right. You can't live here forever.' She toyed with the package a moment, the soft crackling sounds of the paper loud in the quiet kitchen. 'I know I don't have to tell you you're always welcome here, regardless of what happens with Ginny.'

'I know,' Harry said softly.

'It's a difficult thing for a mother to let her babies grow up,' Molly mused. 'But a good mother also knows when she has to take a step back and let it happen. You're already so grown up in so many ways, Harry, but I need to let you finish growing up. And I do trust your judgment, that you're ready for this.'

'I'm just going to London,' Harry said. 'Only a Floo connection away.' He noticed the steaming teapot and poured himself a cup. 'I'll make a deal with you,' he said, adding milk to the tea. 'I'll come for lunch every Sunday if I'm not out on a case.'

'Or any other time you want,' Molly added.

'Deal.' Harry sipped his tea, the cup cradled between his hands. 'And I'm perfectly capable of doing my own laundry,' he said pointedly. 'Been doing it since I was old enough to measure the washing powder into the washing machine. Just so you know I don't expect you to continue doing it for me.'

'But if you need…'

'I know,' Harry said simply. He grinned crookedly. 'I've got a hand in the clock.'

'Well then…' Molly thrust the package into Harry's hands. 'For your flat…' She darted up the stairs back to her bedroom, leaving Harry standing in the kitchen, staring in bewilderment at the package. He pried the paper open and the frame slid out into his hand.

It was a photograph of him and Ron before their second year when Harry had come to stay with them for the remainder of the summer. They were wandering around the paddock, talking about Merlin-knew-what, their heads close together – one bright, one dark – in the warm summer sunshine, oblivious to the camera.

Harry traced the edge of the frame, blinking against the sudden sting in his eyes. Pictures were worth thousands of words, even if the words weren't about the actual picture. Had Molly not said a word, and just given him the photograph, he would have known she approved of his plans. Not that he needed her approval, but to have his surrogate mother's blessing on the endeavor was the finishing touch Harry needed to take his first steps into the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a photo out there of Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint on the set of the first movie. It's a completely unguarded moment, and the two of them don't even seem to realize their picture's being taken. In my head, that's the one that Molly gives Harry.


	48. Scarred, but Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April first.
> 
> The first birthday without Fred.
> 
> George curled on his side, and faced the wall. Amazing after so many first days without Fred, it still stung as much as it did. When Harry announced he was moving into his new flat on April first, George didn't blame him. He wouldn't have wanted to be in the house, either, had he been either Ron, Harry, or Ginny. The house that plunged back into mourning for a day. Molly's voice drifted up the stairs, and George winced at the note of forced cheer in it. His eyes closed and he sought escape in sleep.

Katie perched on a tall stool in the back room of the shop watching George pack fireworks into boxes. He didn't seem to have a rhyme or reason to what went into each box, randomly placing three or four fireworks into each box. 'Going for the element of surprise, are you? The mystery box of fireworks? Do you get dragons, Catherine wheels, or Quidditch equipment?'

George's head snapped up. 'Huh?'

Katie gestured toward the towering stack of boxes next to George. 'You haven't labeled the boxes at all since you started. And normally, each of the small boxes has the same proportion of fireworks. Like they all have two animal-themed fireworks and two Quidditch ones. Or something of the sort. It's like you're not even thinking.'

George blinked and gazed in dismay at the boxes. 'Bloody hell,' he sighed. 'That's two hours of wasted work…'

'You could have them in a bin,' Katie suggested. 'Sell them for five Sickles. Make the mystery part of the selling point. The allure of the unknown,' she added in enticing voice.

'Might work,' George said thoughtfully. 'It'd save us the trouble of having to go back and repackage it all.' He continued to direct random fireworks into the boxes, with slightly more purpose than he'd shown before.

'Mum wants to have you over for tea.'

'Really?' George glanced at Katie. 'Why?'

'She's in the market for a load of trick wands and dribbling teacups,' Katie smirked.

'I'll make sure to bring a selection,' George retorted.

'Shall I tell her to expect both of us, then?' Katie asked. 'Round five on Saturday?'

'Sure,' George said off-handedly, then suddenly his wand hand jerked, sending several fireworks flying across the back room. One of them exploded in an impressive shower of bronze and blue sparks. 'I guess that was one of the Hogwarts fireworks,' he mused, then ignored the eagle soaring around the room. 'Oh… wait… I can't do it at five on Saturday.'

'Why not?'

'Easter hols start Saturday,' George explained. 'Shop'll be open late for Hogwarts students. I can come later, after we've closed.'

Katie shook her head. 'Mum and Dad have to start getting Timothy ready for bed early. He fights it and if they don't start the process of persuading him to have a bath and the like early, they're all up until midnight. He doesn't take well to having his routine disrupted…' she said apologetically.

George packed a few more boxes, then said at length, 'I'll talk to Ron.'

Katie's shoulders jerked. 'It's fine.'

'I'll talk to Ron,' George repeated. 'He's quite able to run things by himself, and we have David and Sasha. And Harry can help.'

'Don't worry about it,' Katie muttered. 'It doesn't matter.'

George's hand closed around Katie's wrist. 'It does,' he insisted. 'It does to you.' He closed a box with a flick of his wand. 'Tea's at five, yeah?' Katie nodded mutely. 'Right. I'll meet you at your flat at four-thirty. I promise I'll even wear something that's clean, pressed, and free of stains.'

'You don't have to –' Katie began.

'I know I don't,' George interrupted. 'I want to.' Katie's stomach rumbled loudly in response, making her blush, and George chuckled. 'All right. I can finish this tomorrow. 'What time is it, anyway?'

'Almost nine,' Katie said sheepishly.

'Why didn't you say something?' George chided, pulling his robes off and hanging them on their hook.

'You were busy,' Katie slid off the stool. 'Been busy quite a lot lately,' she added.

'Yeah.' George stole a look at the calendar on the wall, then quickly shifted his attention to straightening the already perfectly stacked pile of boxes.

Katie followed his look. April first was a week away. She supposed George burying himself in work was marginally better than shutting himself away, but he was still hiding for all intents and purposes. 'Have you had dinner yet?' George's stomach gave an answering rumble of its own. 'I'm going to take that as a no…'

'Erm, yeah… I sort of forgot to eat…'

'Would you like to come over and have a bite?'

George waved his wand around the back room and the lights dimmed and then slowly went out. 'Yeah.'

'And stay the night?'

George's head tilted to one side. 'Are you trying to distract me with food and sex in the hopes I'll forget my birthday's next week?'

'Is it working?' Katie grinned a little.

George let a small smile drift over his face. 'I'll let you know.'

'Fair enough.' Katie opened the back door and slipped outside. George followed her, tapping the doorknob with his wand to lock the door, and slid his hand around Katie's, walking down the dark, quiet street to her building.

George tilted his head back a little, looking at the number of windows, limned with light. The quiet wasn't the same as it had been a year ago. That had been a suffocating silence, choked with fear and terror. Even when he and Fred had opened the shop, and moved into the flat over it, the mood on Diagon Alley had been apprehensive and more than a little frightened. It was, to George, a little unsettling, after living with the fear for so many months. He stopped and tugged at Katie's hand, turning her around. She looked up at him, an inquiring expression on her face. George brushed the hair from her eyes and cupped her face with his free hand, and bent to kiss her. He wound his arms around Katie, inhaling the honeysuckle scent of her body.

No, he couldn't forget. But he could live in this moment.

* * *

George traced the back of Katie's left hand, curled into a fist on her pillow. She hardly ever straightened her fingers if she didn't have to, and generally avoided using her left hand at all. He turned her hand over, and ran his thumb up her palm, attempting to unfurl her fingers. Katie grimaced and clenched her hand into a tighter fist, trying to pull her hand away. George frowned and sat up, the sheet falling around his waist. He renewed his attempts to uncurl her hand, and Katie, just as firmly rebuffed his efforts in a silent battle of wills. 'Why?' he said softly.

Katie's mouth crimped and she jerked her hand from his. 'Because it's the hand that touched that foul necklace Malfoy Imperiused Madam Rosmerta into performing an Imperius curse on me to take it back to Hogwarts,' she hissed.

'Wait, what?' George asked in confusion. He hadn't paid much attention to the accounts of the Death Eater trials in the newspaper.

Katie sighed explosively and wrapped the sheet firmly around her body. 'Malfoy put an Imperius on Rosmerta to make her perform an Imperius on someone else. And then that someone else would take a cursed necklace to the school and give it to Dumbledore. Who would have been too smart to open the damn thing in the first place.' She looked down at her left hand. 'She Imperiused me. I went to the ladies' at the Three Broomsticks, and then I didn't remember anything until I woke up at St. Mungo's six months later.' She uncurled her fingers, palm down over her knee. 'It looks awful,' she murmured.

George suddenly swept his hair away from the right side of his head. He never exposed that side of his head, if he didn't have to. He turned his head, displaying it to Katie. 'That didn't exactly add any points in the looks department,' he said dispassionately. 'It took weeks to get over not having an ear. It wasn't like I was going to get it pierced like Bill, mind, but I didn't have an ear. I grew my hair out to cover it. Those scars? Yeah, I asked a Healer, and he said he didn't know if they'd ever heal properly or even fade because it was Dark magic.' He let his hair fall back. 'It's naught to be ashamed of, Katie,' he told her, stroking the back of her left hand.

'It is,' she said angrily. 'It is, George. It was a bloody Imperius! My God, George, that Death Eater who impersonated Mad-Eye my fifth year taught us how to fight one off, and how to recognize it. And I couldn't fight it,' she sniffed. 'I couldn't fight it…' Tears began to fall down her cheeks.

'You think that makes you weak or something?' George asked, leaning over the side of the bed, scrabbling for his shirt. He used the hem to wipe Katie's cheeks.

'It does make me weak,' she raged.

'Katie… Lots of wizards and witches were under an Imperius curse. Fully trained ones, no less. Look at Pius Thicknesse. Merlin's pants, Katie, the man was the bloody Head of MLE and couldn't fight off an Imperius. And you weren't even out of school…'

'Harry could,' Katie said mulishly. 'He could do it his fourth year.'

George shifted to sit next to Katie and drew her closer to him, thumbing off the intermittent tears that streaked down her face. 'Yeah, well, Harry can do lots of things some of us only wish we could do.' He lifted Katie's left wrist to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside, just over her pulse, feeling it bump steadily against his lips. She had automatically curved her fingers over the palm. 'And he's absolute rubbish at other things. Same with everyone.' He cradled her hand between his. 'Please?' he murmured.

Biting her lip so hard, George fancied she was about to draw blood, Katie slowly straightened her fingers. George gently ran his hand over her open palm, and looked down. The very tip of her finger was nearly purple. He touched it with a questioning fingertip. 'It's where I touched the necklace,' Katie said painfully. George nodded and continued to examine her hand. Livid magenta lines emanated from the tip, snaking down her finger, twisting and writing around each other. They faded as they traveled down her finger, and halfway down her palm, they disappeared. She was right, George reasoned. It _was_ awful to see. But not because of the aesthetic qualities of the injury. It didn't turn him off or disgust him physically. It gave him a pang to remember those long months she lay in St. Mungo's unconscious, unsure if she would ever wake up. Without pausing to mull his actions, George bent his head over Katie's hand and his tongue flicked over her ring finger. 'George…' she breathed in protest.

'Katie…'

'Don't… It's…'

'Shhhh.' George continued his ministrations to Katie's hand, feeling his body stir as she ran her fingers through his hair and over his back. He lifted his head and stared at her. 'You ought to be proud of yourself,' he said softly. 'You survived. It's a badge of honor.' He closed the distance between them and kissed her, pushing her back against the pillows.

Katie broke the kiss, tears still trembling on her lashes. 'Are you trying to distract me with sex?' she asked.

'Is it working?' George asked huskily.

Katie brushed a kiss over his shoulder. 'I'll let you know.'

* * *

George ruefully looked down at his shirt. It was covered in cat fur, courtesy of the old cat that was draped over his lap. 'Maisey likes you,' Timothy crowed in delight, stroking the cat's ginger fur.

'Maisey likes anybody that will pet her,' Katie's mother Belinda said, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. 'She showed up on our doorstep when Timmy was a baby,' she told George. 'Just a mere scrap of a kitten herself.'

'They grew up together,' Katie's father Peter added. 'And Maisey preferred Timothy to the rest of us.' As if to prove his point, Maisey yawned, stretched, and slid from George's lap to Timothy's nuzzling the boy's nose with her own, noisily purring like the old Anglia Arthur had once owned.

Timothy sprang up, Maisey clutched in his arms. To George's surprise, she didn't attempt to bite or scratch Timothy. 'Come see Maisey's room!' Timothy demanded to George.

'Maisey has her own room?' George asked Timothy.

'Uh-huh!' Timothy scampered down the corridor, while George managed to haul himself to his feet, ineffectively brushing at the tufts of orange fur on his shirt. Giving it up as a bad job, he followed Timothy to what was obviously his bedroom. On one side of the room, Timothy had blocked off an area with wooden building blocks and supplied it with pillows and a fuzzy blanket. 'That's where Maisey sleeps!' Timothy said proudly. 'But sometimes, she sleeps on my bed,' he whispered loudly to George.

George, for his part, found himself contemplating what would happen to Timothy while he nattered on about this and that. He had magic, but was unable to manipulate or control it. It made George wonder if Timothy would have a lifespan similar to those of witches and wizards, or even Squibs, who lived a bit longer than Muggles. And if he did outlive his parents, what would happen to him?

In a few moments, Peter's head appeared through the door. 'All right, Timmy. It's time to put your things away.'

George bit his lip at Timothy's crestfallen expression. 'I'll help,' he volunteered. 'If you tell me where things go.'

'Oh, you don't have…' Peter began, but George interrupted.

'I don't mind. And if it helps…' He shrugged, and scooped up a pile of Muggle picture book.

Peter stood in the doorway, studying George, who patiently placed each book just so, according to Timothy's instructions. 'Thank you,' he said quietly. George nodded in acknowledgement, never taking his attention away from Timothy. 'All right, Timmy,' Peter said. 'Let's see if you can get everything put away before the sand runs out.' He flicked his wand at an hourglass set into the wall. As it swung over, tinkling music began to play, and Timothy stared at it for a moment, before he set Maisey in her "room" and began to methodically gather his toys with lightening speed.

'What happens if he beats the hourglass?' George asked.

'Extra story at bedtime,' Peter replied. 'Sometimes he makes it, sometimes not.'

George grinned. 'I hope you've got one picked out,' he said, then rolled up his sleeves and pulled out his wand, and proceeded to Banish various toys and games to their cupboards, while Timothy laughed with glee.

In the sitting room, Belinda fixed Katie with a beady eye. 'What?' Katie asked.

'I take it things are going well,' Belinda said.

'Yeah…' Katie walked into the kitchen and began to do the washing up. 'They're fine,' she added cautiously.

Belinda tilted Katie's face toward the light. 'You look tired,' she said accusingly.

'I _am_ tired. It's been a long week at work.'

'You didn't eat much,' Belinda noted.

'Mum,' Katie exclaimed, scandalized. 'I'm not pregnant,' she whispered.

'Why is that the first thing that jumps into your head?'

Katie slid a pile of dishes into the sink. 'Because you're you, Mum. Your biggest worry when I was at school wasn't that I'd get hexed into oblivion, but that I'd end up pregnant. I'm not pregnant,' she repeated.

Are you sure?'

'Yes, Mum, I'm sure.' Katie directed a plate to a cupboard with her wand. 'Reasonably sure…'

'Katherine…' Belinda said warningly.

'Would it be such a bad thing if I were?' Katie asked in a low voice.

George stopped just outside the door. _If she were what?_

'Are either of you ready for it?' Belinda shot back.

'Is anyone?' Katie countered. 'All my life, I've heard you dealing with women and their families. And every time one of them gets pregnant for the first time, chances are one of them will say, "I'm not ready for this," and you always tell them nobody ever is ready for it.'

'How many hours do you work a day?' Belinda asked.

'How is this relevant?' Katie asked, sending another plate to the cupboard.

'Just answer me.'

'Nine or ten. Sometimes twelve. And George works just as much, nearly every day except Sundays, and even then he puts in several hours…'

'Can either of you not work that much?' Belinda challenged.

'I don't…' Katie's voice faltered. 'I don't know…'

'Don't you think you ought to find out? Before you think about adding children? Or even if he wants them. Or if he wants to be with you for longer than a few months.'

'Mum…' Katie directed her wand at the sink and a glass landed in it with a splash, sending water cascading over the lip of the sink in her exasperation. 'We've only just started dating…'

'You can't tell me you don't want…' Belinda sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind Katie's ear. 'I know how the two of you feel about each other. But… Don't rush into anything.'

Katie slumped against the counter. 'I don't think that's going to be a problem,' she admitted. 'I ought to go collect George before it gets too late, and Timothy talks him into sleeping over.'

George jumped and strolled nonchalantly into the kitchen. 'Timothy's getting into the bath,' he told Belinda. 'I think that might be a good time to slip out?' he suggested to Katie.

'I think you're right,' Katie said quickly, dying to end the uncomfortable conversation with her mother. She gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. 'Tell Dad I said good night.'

'Thank you, Mrs.… Erm… Belinda,' George stammered. 'I had a nice evening.'

'I do apologize for the cat fur…' Belinda murmured, eyeing the still-liberal smudges of orange on George's shirt.

'No worries,' George said.

'Do come back with Katie any time,' Belinda said brightly.

'I will.' George took Katie's proffered hand and they left the house. 'Do you want to go back to London straightaway?'

'Don't have to,' Katie said.

'Mind if we walk a bit?'

Katie shook her head. 'No…'

George slid his arm around Katie's waist, matching his stride to hers. 'Can I ask you something?'

Katie's mouth went dry. _Oh, damn… He heard!_ 'Sure.'

'What happens to Timothy if your parents can't take care of him anymore?'

'I'm not sure. He might come live with me. Actually, I think he might have to. It's not as if he's spell-damaged and can live in St. Mungo's…' She cut a sideways look at George. 'Would that be a problem if… you know… we were…?'

George looked down at the top of Katie's head. 'No… Family always comes first…'

* * *

George heard the sounds of Ron, Harry, and Ginny dressing for the day.

April first.

The first birthday without Fred.

George curled on his side, and faced the wall. Amazing after so many first days without Fred, it still stung as much as it did. When Harry announced he was moving into his new flat on April first, George didn't blame him. He wouldn't have wanted to be in the house, either, had he been either Ron, Harry, or Ginny. The house that plunged back into mourning for a day. Molly's voice drifted up the stairs, and George winced at the note of forced cheer in it. His eyes closed and he sought escape in sleep.

Katie tiptoed into George's bedroom, and closed the door behind her, locking it. When she’d shown up in the kitchen door of the Burrow, Molly had merely pointed upstairs and Katie nodded in mute understanding. Katie stood at the foot of the bed, and toed her shoes off, then doffed her trousers and lifted the edge of the quilt, sliding in behind George, who awoke with a startled snort. 'Wha…?' He blinked blearily at Katie. 'Wha' are you doin' here?'

Katie's left hand stole to the right side of George's head and she brushed his hair back, her fingers tracing the scars around the small dark hole. 'Because you can't always see some scars,' she told him.

George snorted self-deprecatingly. 'I'm a coward,' he scoffed. 'It's our birthday, and I can't even be bothered to face anyone…'

'I don't see it that way,' Katie murmured, her body curving into George's.

'Glad someone doesn't,' George muttered. 'When I told Ron I wasn't planning to open the shop today, he didn't seem surprised at all. He just muttered something under his breath that sounded like, "Figures."' George was silent for a long moment. 'Do you think one day, it won't feel like this…? Like I'm missing a part of myself?'

Katie's head rested on his shoulder. 'I don't know.'

'How long can you stay?' George asked in a small voice.

'As long as you need me to,' Katie murmured, lacing her fingers through his.

George felt a little of the tension that had built up inside him dissipate a little. He knew he wasn't alone, not in the classic sense of the word. He had Molly and Arthur, and the rest of the family. But that was family. It wasn't exactly voluntary. Arthur had told both he and Fred that when they complained about Percy. _You can't choose your family. You **have** to like them. And you have to put up with all the things they do that might seem silly to you. Because they're your family._ Katie had chosen to stay with him.

It helped. Just a little, but it was like seeing a single ray of sunshine break through the clouds.


	49. Metamorphosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Well, Dean's going to paint Teddy's room. Neville's going to set up a small greenhouse on the balcony outside the kitchen – just the medicinal herbs – because well, we know I'm practically a walking disaster waiting to happen. And the rest of us… We'll bicker over where to put the sofa, and whether or not to put up curtains. Where the bookcase ought to go, and should I get another one. Do I put the bed under the window or across from it? And where the tea towels should go in the kitchen.' Harry tucked his hands between his knees. 'And Luna will have some mad idea that the dustbin the bathroom needs to be in the middle of the floor because there's some sort of magical theory that says it should be there. And we'll get Chinese takeaway from the place down the street and sit on the floor, because nobody wants to spill on the new sofa, even though we all can use magic to fix any damage.'
> 
> 'That's an awfully well-thought plan,' Ginny observed.
> 
> A reminiscent expression drifted over Harry's face. 'I saw something like it on the telly once during the summers.'

The Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross, surrounded by its usual cloud of steam. Hermione peered out of the window of the compartment she shared with Hannah, Luna, and Ginny. 'Neville's on the platform,' she announced. She shot Hannah a look. 'I thought you said the two of you were just friends.'

Hannah joined Hermione at the window. 'We are,' she replied, giving Neville a thoughtful glance. 'He mentioned something about meeting me on the platform when he brought some cuttings from St. Mungo's greenhouse up to Professor Sprout last week…' She tugged her schoolbag from the rack overhead. 'Didn't think he'd actually be here.'

'You think his grandmother made him come?' Hermione wondered.

Ginny snorted. 'You think anyone can _make_ Neville do anything he doesn't want to do anymore?'

Luna stood and stretched her arms over her head. 'It's usually nice to be friends first,' she said. 'Don't you think so?' She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. 'Dates aren't nearly as awkward.'

'It certainly helps,' Hermione agreed. 'You don't have to get through all that normal getting-to-know-you rubbish. And you're usually comfortable being around them…'

The train lurched to a stop. Ginny staggered a little and pulled her bag from the rack. 'I suppose. I haven't really been on a date with Harry… At least not one where we've been alone from start to finish…'

'Yeah, we're usually together, aren't we?' Hermione mused. She met Ginny's eyes, and the two of them grinned and nodded.

'If I were Ron or Harry, I might be worried,' Hannah laughed. 'When the two of you get an idea in your heads…'

'We're not that bad!' Ginny protested, laughing. She started to follow Hannah and Luna from the compartment, but Hermione grabbed her arm.

'Before we get off the train,' Hermione said nervously. She let go of Ginny's arm and wrapped her fingers around the strap of her bag so tightly the knuckles turned white. 'Did you write to Harry about the translation of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_?'

'Yeah. Sent him the copy of “Tale of the Three Brothers,” too, but he didn't write back to me,' Ginny said.

'Oh…' Hermione's face was crestfallen.

'Don't read too much into it,' Ginny warned. 'You and I both know if he was truly upset by it, he'd have written immediately. And said a great many truly idiotic things in the process.'

'Yeah…'

'And the trials were going on, too,' Ginny reminded her. She glanced out the window, then did a quick double take. 'If you want, you can ask him about it right now,' she said.

'Why is that?' Hermione followed Ginny's gaze. Harry waited by one of the pillars, chatting with Neville and Hannah, who was pointing at the train. 'Is now really the time?'

Ginny stifled a groan. 'You're worse than Ron. If you keep waiting for the right time, it's never going to be the right time.'

'But…'

'No buts,' Ginny said firmly. 'You said yourself Professor Babbling needs an answer from you after the holiday, no?'

Hermione nodded glumly. 'Yeah…'

'So just ask, for pity's sake.' Ginny headed toward the door. 'Come on, then. Before Harry gets worried and sends out frantic owls or Patronuses looking for us.'

'Easy for you to say,' Hermione muttered, trudging off the train and crossing the platform to where Harry stood saying his hellos in as few words as possible to Ginny. 'Ron's at the shop?' she asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Harry looked at Hermione over the top of Ginny's head. 'Yeah. George had something come up at the last minute, so he's not there, and they're staying open late, with all the Hogwarts students coming home for the holiday. I've been given strict instructions to take you over there as soon as you got off the train.' He gave Hermione a one-armed hug. 'The story translation's brilliant,' he said into her ear. 'Nobody'll ever make the connection between them and…' He trailed off significantly.

Hermione's shoulders slumped. 'Thank you,' she breathed. 'Oh, thank you, Harry!' she squealed, throwing both arms around him. 'This is such an enormous opportunity,' she babbled.

'I know.' Harry returned the hug. 'You deserve it after everything…' Hermione's eyes grew shiny and overly bright. 'No crying,' he ordered. 'Ron will hex me if he finds out I made you cry.'

Hermione giggled. 'Hex you? Probably not. Withhold your favorite pudding? Definitely.'

'If you two don't stop that,' Ginny began dryly, 'you're going to find yourselves on the front page of the paper in the morning.'

'But Skeeter's not even here!' Harry protested.

'No,' Ginny said cheerfully. 'But plenty of others are who'll go to her in a heartbeat to make you look bad.' Harry opened his mouth to argue with her, but Ginny smiled guilelessly at him. 'You know it's true,' she added.

'She's right,' Hermione murmured. 'And this mob's going to descend on the shop soon, and Ron's going to need some help.' She headed for the barrier. 'I'll see you there.'

Harry shook his head, and slid his arm around Ginny's waist. 'So do you have any plans for next Thursday?'

Ginny frowned. 'No… It's Ffffffff—' She took in a deep breath. 'George's birthday.'

'I know,' Harry said quietly, leading Ginny to the barrier. 'But I've found a flat in London, and I told the landlord I'd move into it on the first.'

'Ah…' Ginny nodded in understanding. 'A distraction.'

'Yeah.' Harry let go of Ginny long enough to slip through the barrier. He waited for her to come through and took her hand. 'It won't take us all day, though, in case your mum's planning something for dinner, though.'

'What do you mean by _us_?’

'You're going to help me move in and unpack, aren't you?'

'Do you even have furniture?'

'I thought you could help me with that, too…'

'Ooooh. Shopping.' Ginny sounded less than thrilled.

'I can't stand shopping,' Harry told her. 'All those salesclerks standing around, watching you bounce on a mattress.' He glanced down at Ginny. 'I'll feed you lunch…' he wheedled.

'Oh, fine…' Ginny sighed.

'Brilliant. Monday morning, then.'

Ginny walked silently out of the station and turned into an alley to Disapparate. 'It's all changing so quickly,' she said.

'Is that a bad thing?' Harry blurted.

'No. It just seems like it's moving awfully fast. I'll be finished with school soon and you're about to be on your own… A year ago…' She let the thought fade, unfinished.

'I know.'

* * *

Ron closed the door of the shop and leaned against it, his eyes widening as he blinked several times. 'What exactly do you call that?' he asked.

'A dress.' Hermione spun in a slow circle. 'Found it at a vintage shop during the Christmas holidays.'

'It's a little short, isn't it?' he choked.

Hermione looked down, waggling her fingertips near the edge of the hem. 'Not really.' The skirt flipped saucily at mid-thigh.

Ron's gaze locked on Hermione's shoes. 'And where do you intend to go, dressed like that?'

'Don't move.' Hermione flicked her wand at Ron, and his jeans and shirt smoothed as if she'd pressed them. 'You and I are going out.'

'Going out?' Ron asked blankly.

'You know, Ron, if you keep repeating everything I say all night, it's going to take a while to have a conversation.'

Ron slowly inhaled. 'Where are we going?'

'Club. In Muggle London. Where you and I will be completely anonymous, where we can dance all night, and not have to worry what anyone else will think.'

'Sounds like a plan.' Ron stepped forward and took Hermione's hand. 'Lead on.'

* * *

'No Teddy tonight?' Ginny asked.

Harry shook his head. 'Andromeda will bring him over tomorrow to spend the day with me. With the shop staying open late and all…' He hauled himself to the top of the stone wall, and stared up into the sky. 'So Dean, Seamus, and Neville are coming to help on Thursday. And Luna, too.'

'You, me, Ron, Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Luna?' Ginny counted. 'That's a lot of help.'

'Well, Dean's going to paint Teddy's room. Neville's going to set up a small greenhouse on the balcony outside the kitchen – just the medicinal herbs – because well, we know I'm practically a walking disaster waiting to happen. And the rest of us… We'll bicker over where to put the sofa, and whether or not to put up curtains. Where the bookcase ought to go, and should I get another one. Do I put the bed under the window or across from it? And where the tea towels should go in the kitchen.' Harry tucked his hands between his knees. 'And Luna will have some mad idea that the dustbin the bathroom needs to be in the middle of the floor because there's some sort of magical theory that says it should be there. And we'll get Chinese takeaway from the place down the street and sit on the floor, because nobody wants to spill on the new sofa, even though we all can use magic to fix any damage.'

'That's an awfully well-thought plan,' Ginny observed.

A reminiscent expression drifted over Harry's face. 'I saw something like it on the telly once during the summers. I didn't have friends until I started school, and it didn't take long after that when I began to dream about moving out of that house. At the end of my third year, when I thought I might be able to move in with Sirius, for ten seconds, I let myself dream of what it might be like to have Ron and Hermione come help me put my room to rights.' He shook himself and gave Ginny a self-deprecating shrug. 'Just sort of stuck, I suppose.' He heaved a sigh. 'So enough about me. Weren't you supposed to pick a team?'

'I did,' Ginny said triumphantly. 'Holyhead.'

'I'm not surprised,' Harry commented. 'A team that's full of women with something to prove.'

'Wouldn't you have something to prove if the Quidditch powers-that-be aren't quite sure what to make of an all-female team? Women who are very good at what they do, and who are very discreet about their lives off the pitch. You never see any of the Harpies in the paper, except for the Quidditch page. Apparently, they're a rather tightly-knit team. Don't talk to the press about things outside of the game.'

'Thanks…'

'I didn't do it just for you,' Ginny corrected. 'It helps, but I'd rather people focused on my ability to play, not who I'm dating.'

'Are you going to be on the team straightaway?'

Ginny burst into peals of laughter. 'No. I still have to go through a trial with the rest of the team. At best, I'm hoping to go on the reserve squad. But I fully expect to be on the practice squad.'

'Selling yourself just a bit short, aren't you?'

'No. I'm being realistic. I'm not even eighteen, and very, very few players are put on the regular squad, much less the reserves when they're first out of school.'

'You have no idea how good you are,' Harry said incredulously.

'I know I'm good enough,' Ginny sighed. 'Still… It could all be for naught. Nothing's set in stone, and the trial in July is really just that… A trial.' She bit her lip and tilted her face to the starry sky, letting the breeze waft over her face. 'I might not make it.'

'Of course you will,' Harry scoffed.

'I wrote to Bill,' Ginny continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken. 'I asked him about working in Gringotts as a curse-setter.'

'Curse-setter?'

'Someone has to do it,' Ginny informed him loftily. 'But that might mean I have to go elsewhere…' she added softly.

'Elsewhere…?'

'Abroad.'

'What does that mean for us?'

'I don't know,' Ginny sighed. 'We have to wait, I suppose. Wait and find out what happens…'

'But—' Harry began, then bit back his argument. _You want her to be happy, don't you?_ 'Yeah.' Ginny shivered a little, and burrowed into Harry's side. 'Let's go in, eh? Getting a bit chilly out here.'

'I'm fine,' Ginny protested.

'I'm getting cold,' Harry said firmly. 'And I'm hungry.' His stomach rumbled loudly, as if to prove his point. 'And in a few days, I'll have to feed myself, instead of raiding the kitchen here.'

'One last hurrah?'

'Something like that.' Harry slid off the wall and began to walk toward the house. 'At the same time, I won't have to try and eat so much. Molly puts so much food on my plate, and eyes me like I'm a naughty toddler until I eat it all.'

'You look great,' Ginny said admiringly. She had a feeling Harry was always going to be thin, but he had quite lost the starved, pinched look he'd had most of his life.

'I had to let my belt out,' Harry laughed. 'That's the first time I've ever had to do that.' He opened the back door, and held it open for Ginny.

'There you are!' exclaimed Molly. She indicated a parcel on the dresser. 'That arrived for you today, Harry.'

'Housewarming gift?' Ginny teased.

'Dunno.' Harry peeled the paper away from a heavy book. 'Must be from Hermione,' he guessed. 'It's a book.' He turned the book over to see the title, and the smile slowly faded from his face. 'This must be some sort of joke,' he muttered, nascent hysteria making his voice shake. 'This can't be real.' He pulled the book from the wrappings and brandished it toward Ginny and Molly. 'This can't be real!'

'Oh, dear God…' Molly reached for the book, a look of disgust on her face. 'Who…?'

'Rita Skeeter.' Ginny's voice was deathly quiet. 'That cow.'

Molly started to throw the book into the rubbish bin, but Harry plucked it from her hand. 'I want to read it,' he said, his voice thready with rage. 'I want to see what kind of lies she's said about me.'

'Harry, don't do it.' Molly unsuccessfully tried to tug the book from his grasp. 'It's just going to upset you.'

'No.' Harry shook his head, and held the book away from Molly, knowing it was fruitless, as she could _Accio_ it from him at any moment. 'This time she's gone too far. I'm keeping it, and I'm taking it to Kingsley. Enough is bloody enough.' He strode from the kitchen, the sound of his footfalls on the staircase thumping loudly over the creaks and squeals of the risers.

* * *

Ron swiped the sleeve of his shirt across his forehead. He was hot, sweating, and felt totally exhilarated. The music blocked out everything else. It was loud and throbbing, flooding his body with its infectious rhythms. He could see the laughter on Hermione's face as she twirled in that ridiculous excuse for a dress. Hermione threw herself into his arms. 'Are you ready to leave?' she shouted, her mouth next to his ear.

'Yeah!'

'Come on!' Hermione grabbed his hand, and began to wind her way through the throng of people. They burst into the deserted street, gasping as the cool air slapped them in the face. 'That was fantastic!' she gushed.

'Need to let off steam?' Ron asked.

'A bit. Exams coming up.'

'A bit?' Ron looked down at his watch. 'It's after midnight. That's more than a bit.' He pulled Hermione closer, tilting her face up to kiss her.

'Why don't you take me home?' Hermione suggested.

'Oh. All right.' Ron struggled to keep the disappointment from his voice.

Hermione smiled secretively. 'Just take me home, Ron.'

'All right.' Reluctantly, Ron wound an arm around Hermione, and Disapparated, appearing the Grangers' back garden with a loud _pop_. 'Damn,' Ron hissed. 'I probably woke up your parents.'

'I wouldn't worry about that,' Hermione said demurely. She made her way to the back door of the house. 'Aren't you coming in with me?'

'I…' Any arguments Ron might have had died on his tongue at the completely uncharacteristic coquettish glance over the shoulder she gave him. 'Maybe for a minute…'

As soon as the door closed behind him, Hermione wound her hands in his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers, kissing him with a thoroughness that left him breathless. Ron broke it off. 'Merlin, Hermione… Your parents…'

She backed away slowly, reaching down to pull her shoes off. 'Oh, did I forget to tell you?'

'Tell me what?'

'My parents are on holiday,' Hermione murmured, reaching behind her head to unzip the dress. 'They won't be back until Wednesday.'

'Oh… Brilliant…' Ron inhaled sharply, as he realized precisely what she meant.

* * *

'Harry?' Ginny knocked on the door of Ron's attic bedroom. 'Are you asleep?' He didn't reply. Ginny frowned at the light creeping from under the space under the door. She heard a disgruntled curse. 'I know you're awake,' she continued. 'I can hear you huffing in there like Fang when Hagrid's late with his dinner.'

The door suddenly opened and revealed Harry's mutinous face. 'Do you know what she's said about me?' he hissed, mindful of the fact Molly and Arthur's bedroom was just below them. 'She's said that I must have used Dark magic to escape from Voldemort the summer before last. And that we put the Gringotts goblins under an Imperius to break into the Lestrange vault. She's written that my wits must have been addled by my injury in Ireland, because how else would one explain me speaking in favor of the Malfoys?' Harry spun and heaved the book across the room. It slammed into the opposite wall, rattling the window. 'That _bitch_ said I was emotionally stunted because of my upbringing!' Harry roared in a whisper. His mouth snapped shut, aware he'd said too much.

Ginny slipped into the room, and closed the door behind her, sweeping her wand in an arc around the room. 'You can yell if you want.'

Harry had begun to pace around the room, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. His knuckles popped loudly in the otherwise still room. 'I'm going to get her and I'm going to put her away for a good long time for this. I promise…'

'Harry,' Ginny began tentatively, 'we have laws…'

'I know we have laws!' he shouted. 'But do those laws protect her from writing outright lies about me?'

Ginny sank to the edge of Harry's camp bed. 'No,' she admitted. 'But they don't allow Azkaban sentences for slander or libel.'

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'Then what do they allow?' he snapped.

'She won't be able to publish for a set amount of time. She'll be blacklisted.'

'Why hasn't anyone ever tried this before?' Harry growled.

'Well, because she's usually reported something of the truth,' Ginny responded evenly. 'Exaggerated, of course, but it's essentially the truth. She's been careful to speculate about things, and not report them as fact, like she did with that article she wrote when Hermione came back from Australia.' Ginny paused delicately. 'The thing is, Harry, if she's written that book as fact, you've got a case. Otherwise...' She shrugged.

'I'm still going to Kingsley. I've had enough of her. It's not just me, either. This is just the limit, Gin, do you hear?'

'I hear you,' Ginny said ruefully, tugging at her ear. 'People in the next county heard you… Well, they could if I hadn't charmed the room…'

Harry glared at Ginny, then flopped down to the camp bed, making it sway alarmingly. He grabbed the pillow and punched it several times, before tossing it carelessly to the floor. 'Things aren't changing fast enough sometimes,' he breathed. 'I thought…'

'What? That the war would be over, and everything over the previous seven years would just disappear into the mists of history?' Ginny hooted. 'Wishful thinking, that.'

'That I'd be left alone to live my life.'

'Harry, you're never going to be left totally alone,' Ginny stated calmly.

'Damn.' Harry sat up, grasping Ginny's arm. 'Look, I know this is somewhat premature, but if – _if_ – we ever get married and have children, we won't tell them about any of this. Not until they're old enough to understand.'

'Harry…'

'They need normal lives,' Harry insisted. 'I ought to be able to give them that much.'

'And when would "old enough" be?'

'I don't know,' Harry confessed. 'After they start Hogwarts…?'

'Eleven? All right…'

'Or seventeen.'

'Oh, sure. Waiting until they're seventeen isn't silly at all,' Ginny chuckled. 'Lie down.' Harry grumbled under his breath, but slid under the quilt. Ginny snuggled next to him, on top of the quilt, Summoning the quilt from Ron's unoccupied bed to drape over her body. She stroked the back of his neck gently, running her fingers through his hair until the stiff tendons relaxed. 'We can figure that out when – if – we do marry and have children. Not something we have to decide just now, Harry.' She waited for a response but none was forthcoming. 'Harry?'

A soft snore was her only reply. Ginny smiled, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth carefully pulling his glasses off, then set them on the windowsill over their heads.

* * *

Hermione sat on the rug in the sitting room, swathed in Ron's shirt, watching him kneel in front of the fire, expertly turning a sandwich on a toasting fork. 'How did you get so good at that?' she asked. 'I always end up letting the bread slide off into the flames…'

Ron smirked. 'Christmas hols my first year of school. Nearly everyone else in Gryffindor had gone home, and Harry and I actually got to sit near the fireplace. And well, when you're eleven, you eat anything that isn't nailed down or charmed to stick to the table, and Harry and I were overcome by more laziness than usual.' Ron slid the toasted cheese sandwich off the fork and onto a plate. 'Careful… it's hot…' He quickly assembled another sandwich and held it hovering over the dancing flames. 'So we pretty much ate anything we could put on a toasting fork between meals. And after much trial and error…' Ron nodded toward the sandwich.

'Do you think it helped that we were friends for so long first?' Hermione asked, picking at the crispy edge of the toasted bread.

'Didn't hurt,' Ron replied, turning his sandwich.

'That's it? "Didn't hurt?”’

'Well, what do you want me to say?' Ron pulled his sandwich from the fire to examine the progress.

'Did it make it harder to date me?'

Ron sighed, and sat back on his heels. 'Yes and no, hen.' He put the sandwich back into the fire and stared at the bread. 'Yes, because being friends with you made it harder to see you, as you put it our fourth year, a girl…'

'You remember that?'

'I remember lots of things,' Ron told her, carefully removing his sandwich from the fork. 'And then I worried about what would happen if I did get involved with you, especially after that debacle that was Lavender…'

'That's a good way to describe it.'

'Yeah. Because if it went horribly wrong, how would it have affected everything else? You're practically part of the family, even before we started this, you're one of Ginny's best mates, and we'd have to try to find a way to share Harry, which I don't think would work out nearly as well as I imagine it would…'

'My, you're quite the ray of sunshine,' Hermione teased. 'Did you think anything positive about it?'

'Oh, well, yeah, of course,' Ron spluttered. 'I already know most of your quirks, and the mundane stuff, like your middle name, your favorite color... But in spite of it, you still manage to surprise me. Like tonight.' He cocked an eyebrow toward their scattered clothing. 'And sometimes, it makes really funny things happen inside my head.'

Hermione choked on her sandwich. 'Funny things?' she rasped, her eyes streaming.

'Yeah, like the first time. The whole time, this tiny part of my brain kept screaming, "Bloody hell! It's Hermione! You know, the Hermione you saved from a troll. And she's naked!" It was more than a little disconcerting, I'll have you know.' Ron slid a crumpet on the toasting fork. 'So what about you?'

'It was harder,' Hermione admitted. 'For all those reasons you said, if it went horribly wrong, how would it have affected everyone else. On the other hand, I've read if people form attachments when they're young, it does mean they'll have a greater chance of forming a strong relationship as adults…'

'Makes sense, I guess.' Ron slathered strawberry jam over the crumpet and offered it to Hermione. She leaned forward for a bite. 'So I suppose that means you're stuck with me, then.' Ron stuffed half of the crumpet in his mouth to cover his embarrassment.

Hermione smiled and wiped a smudge of jam from the corner of Ron's mouth with her thumb. 'And you with me.' She licked the jam from her thumb. 'Not such a bad place to be.'

'No, it's not.'


	50. Light on the Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I haven't slept in a room by myself for longer than a few weeks since I was eleven years old,' Ron mused. 'And now…' He looked at Harry, his face thrown into shadows by the flame of the lamp in the middle of the table. 'When the bloody hell did we grow up?' he demanded.

Ron crept up the stairs, avoiding the ones that squealed the loudest. He'd left Hermione sleeping, murmuring indistinct protests when he slipped from her bed. It was the first time he'd been inside her bedroom. All the other times he'd gone to her parents' house, he'd stayed downstairs in the kitchen or sitting room. It was just has he had expected. Almost painfully tidy, books filling nearly every horizontal surface, categorized by subject, then arranged in alphabetical order. Touches of whimsy relieved the austere edges of the books. A mobile of iridescent dragonflies was suspended from the ceiling in one corner, painted flowering vines twined around the walls, and a quilt with brightly-colored butterflies was spread neatly over the bed.

He held his breath as he quickly ran up the stairs by his parents' bedroom door. Molly, he knew would be awake soon, and while he knew she wouldn't lecture him for coming home at five in the morning, the slightly disapproving sniff would hit the mark far more than any shout would. Ron waited on the landing outside his bedroom, straining his ears, listening for the tell-tale creak of the Molly and Arthur's bedroom door opening. Exhaling a silent sigh of relief, he eased his bedroom door open, stopping just inside. Ginny was draped over Harry, both of them asleep. A large book slumped against the wall, its spine obviously cracked. Curiously, Ron tiptoed into the room, and picked up the book with a slight frown as several of the pages floated to the floor at his feet. He turned it over to see the title and bit back a curse. _The Chosen One? A Biography of Harry Potter by Rita Skeeter_ … he said to himself. _He must have thrown it. Don't blame him…_

Ron set it on top of his bureau, and reached to shake Ginny's shoulder. 'Gin?' he whispered. 'Gin?' He shook her a little harder.

'Wha…?' Ginny blinked and looked blearily up at Ron.

'Better go back down before Mum gets up,' he said softly, trying not to wake Harry as well.

'What time is it?' she asked groggily.

'Just after five.'

'Unnngh…' Ginny slumped across Harry's chest, making him grunt heavily as he snorted awake. He squinted up at the blurred image of Ron.

'Wha's goin' on?' he mumbled, arching his back, making the bedclothes rustle as he tightened his arms around Ginny.

'Nothing,' Ron assured him, sinking to the edge of his bed.

'Oooookay…' Harry yawned, turning on his side, spooning against Ginny. She sank bonelessly into his body.

Ron fell backward into his bed. 'Fine,' he grumbled. 'Get in trouble. See if I care.' His warnings fell on deaf ears. Both Harry and Ginny had already gone back to sleep. Ron shook his head, and soon his soft snores rumbled into the lightening corners of the room.

* * *

A loud _pop_ echoed from beyond the back garden. Molly peered out of the window, a spoon full of peas suspended over her plate. 'Who on earth…?' she wondered. A figure opened the gate, and slipped through, hesitating for a moment, then let it swing shut. He carried a small, flat, wrapped parcel under one arm. The midday sun glinted off his bright hair. 'Charlie?' Molly breathed. 'Charlie!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, it's Charlie!' She swung her wand at the cupboard, and an extra plate fairly flew to the table with the speed of a racing broom. 'Charlie!' She darted out into the garden to greet him, throwing her arms around him, the force of her embrace making him grunt. 'Come inside, dear. We've just sat down for lunch,' she told him, chattering brightly, ushering him into the kitchen. 'Ginny's come home for the holiday,' she added. 'The other boys are here as well. Well, all but Bill,' she added.

Charlie patted her hand gently. 'I'll be here all afternoon, Mum,' he told her, guiltily aware he had barely written to either of his parents since January, nor had he come for a visit since Christmas.

'Of course you are.' Molly began to load his plate with food.

Charlie sighed and caught George's eye. George smiled a little, indicating the table with an inclined head. Charlie shrugged self-consciously, his cheeks stained with a dull flush, as he accepted the overflowing plate his mother handed to him.

* * *

Charlie strolled toward the stone wall, with the flat package in his hand. 'Did you ever talk to that girl with the poetry?' he asked, his gaze on the horizon.

'Yeah.'

'And?'

George scratched his nose. 'We're talking.'

'Just talk?'

'We hold hands and play draughts and crosses, too,' George retorted.

'Is that what your lot's calling it these days?' Charlie smirked. He hoisted himself to the top of the wall and held out the package to George in a characteristically wordless statement.

'What's that?'

Charlie rolled his eyes. 'Just open it, git.'

George turned the small parcel over in his hands. It was small enough to cradle in his palms. He peeled away a small strip of the plain, brown paper Charlie had wrapped around it. A carefully sketched image of his five-year old self stared up at him, next to one of Fred, their jagged haircuts framing their mischievous smiles. George blinked back tears. 'It's brilliant,' he said thickly.

'I did it for your… Well, you know,' Charlie said, tracing the outline of a new burn on the inside of his forearm. 'I just figured a different day…'

George nodded mutely. Charlie had abandoned his usual spare charcoal lines for the glowing hues of pastels. Their round cheeks were rosy with laughter, sprays of freckles scattered across their noses, and their brown eyes alight with life. Charlie's raw talent floored George, but it wasn't something appreciated very much in most magical circles. Before he had gone to Wales after Christmas, George hardly bothered to wonder about him. Sandwiched between Bill and Percy's combined intellect, Charlie sometimes seemed an afterthought. Throw in George's own antics with Fred, Ron's exploits at school, and Ginny's mere presence as the first girl born into the Weasley family, it was little wonder Charlie had gone off to Romania as soon as he could. It gave George new insight into the inadequacy Ron must have felt, growing up in the looming shadows of his elder brothers. 'You don't have to keep it or put it out,' Charlie said neutrally. 'If it bothers you…' he added, his voice slipping into George's thoughts.

'Oh… No.' George shook his head. 'It's perfect. It's just… You… You're…' His lips pressed together, as he collected himself. 'It's perfect,' he repeated softly.

Charlie had known there would be no distracting George with his birthday looming ahead. Better in his mind to acknowledge it, face the pain and the fear, and learn from it. _Just like dealing with a Horntail_ , he mused.

George cleared his throat. 'So, we're not so scary, are we?'

'Not in small doses,' Charlie said. 'Think I might have to undo my trousers, though. Feels like I gained ten pounds in there.'

'Yeah, Mum doesn't understand we don't all need to eat our weight on a daily basis.' George said gruffly.

'Better than tinned beans over the kitchen sink,' Charlie responded.

'It is, that.' George set the drawing aside. 'Don't let it be so long for next time, eh?'

Charlie nodded, the toes of his boots toying with the long grass that grew against the wall. He hadn't missed Molly's beaming face or the contented smile that played on Arthur's mouth, as Charlie regaled them with some of the more colorful shifts he'd had on the reserve. He knew it wouldn't kill him to come home a little more often, especially now that he was so close and wouldn't have to fuss with international Portkeys and had little excuse to put off visits until he could accumulate more than a day or two of vacation leave. 'I'll see what I can do…'

'Why did you come today?' George asked soberly. 'Why this one and not, I dunno, three weeks ago?'

'Just seemed like a good time,' Charlie said.

'Because it's close to a family birthday?' George pressed warily. 'Coming just on birthdays and Christmas, Charlie… Bad form.' He drummed his heels lightly against he wall. 'And at least you have the exciting job now. Bill works behind a desk, and Perce is still, well… A swotty git. But now he's a swotty git with responsibilities,' he chuckled. 'Fred and I admired you,' George said thoughtfully, with only a fraction of the pang he would have felt almost a year ago. It still hurt, but it didn't feel as if he were choking on it.

Charlie snorted in disbelief. 'Go on, and tell me another.'

George shook his head. 'We did. You know… If you hadn't left school early, Fred and I might not have had the stones to do it.'

'I didn't just quit school,' Charlie objected.

'You didn't finish, either,' George pointed out.

'I took a few N.E.W.T.s in Romania,' Charlie sighed. 'The exams for Care of Magical Creatures and Charms, really, just what I needed to know for the reservation. And that was after working there for a few years.'

'But you left to do what you wanted. And you were doing something you loved. That's what Fred and I did.' A reminiscent grin lit George's face. 'But with much more flair and style,' he added. Charlie snorted once more, this time in mirth. He'd heard about how Fred and George left Hogwarts, on their broomsticks, in a shower of fireworks. George eyed Charlie. 'You really are the rebel in the family. We just followed in your footsteps.'

Charlie's shoulders shook a little as he laughed. 'Don't let Mum hear you say that.'

* * *

Arthur belted his dressing gown loosely around his waist and trudged up the stairs to Ron's bedroom. He might not have heard every squeak and groan of the staircase, like Molly did, but he was more than aware of when Ginny crept up to the attic. He never heard her make the return trip. Similarly, he knew when Ron had come home, in spite of his son's efforts to make as little noise as possible. Arthur wasn't naïve when it came to his children. Aside from possible loss of life or limb, Arthur preferred to choose his battles when the boys or Ginny made what would prove to be an ill-informed decision. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been truly furious with any of them. Angry – of course he'd been angry – what parent had never been angry with their offspring? Arthur was even aware of how his physical appearance made him seem to other people. The slightly dotty obsession with all things Muggle, the thinning hair, the glasses that were always just a bit askew. It made him look less than competent. Arthur thought it made for good camouflage. No one would ever assume Arthur knew more than he let on.

The sounds of a raucous debate met his ears when he reached the landing outside Ron's bedroom. Arthur knocked softly and the sound immediately ceased. Ron opened the door slowly and peered around the edge. 'Were we too loud, Dad?' he asked.

Arthur slipped his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown. 'No. I'd just like a quick word with you and Harry.'

Harry's dark head popped up behind Ron's as if on cue. 'We didn't do anything!' he protested.

'Who said you did?' Arthur sidled into the room, and gestured for the boys to sit on the camp bed, while he perched on the edge of Ron's bed. One brow rose a little, at the sight of Ginny's slippers, neatly hidden beneath the camp bed. 'Now that you're moving out on your own, or will soon enough, it's time I had this chat with you. Should have had it long ago, but well… It wasn't quite the right time.'

Ron and Harry exchanged bemused looks, but waited expectantly for Arthur to continue.

Arthur cleared his throat a few times. 'Well, then… There will come a time when you might want to become… _intimate_ with another person,' he coughed. 'And you should know there are ways to avoid getting yourself into a situation where you might not feel you're ready for it – emotionally or financially.' Both of Ron's brows rose considerably into his fringe and his throat bobbed as he swallowed a retort. 'You should know there is a charm, but like all things magical, it's how well you can concentrate on the incantation. It's not foolproof, either,' he added, feeling his ears burn. 'You can say it a hundred times, and if your mind's not in the right place, it won't work.'

By this point, the color in Ron's face had faded, leaving him with a sickly greenish-hue.

Arthur shifted, as if the mattress had been stuffed with rocks. 'But you shouldn't just take a girl to bed for the sake of bedding her,' he said sternly. 'There ought to be some sort of relationship. Whether you want to marry her or not is up to you, and you don't have to want to marry her or wait until you get married. But you shouldn't do anything that you're not ready for.'

Harry's brow furrowed. He did _not_ want to discuss this with Arthur. But he had little choice. Who else did he have? And Arthur was less likely to want to punch him in the nose. 'How do you know? When you're ready?'

Arthur sighed gustily. He remembered asking one of his older cousins that same question. And he'd been baffled at the reply. But it was the best one he had. 'You'll know,' he said, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. 'Right. So the incantation is _Arceovotare_. Say it just before… Well… Things get started.' He pulled out his wand, the handle slipping in his sweaty palm. 'And you need to this wand movement,' he told them, flicking the wand up and back, almost as if he flicked something over his shoulder. 'Let me see you try it.'

Obediently, both Harry and Ron demonstrated the proper wand motion and incantation pronunciation a few times until Arthur was satisfied with their ability to perform the charm. Arthur rose from Ron's bed and reached for the doorknob. 'One more thing, boys… Think with your heads, not your willies.' He slipped through the door and closed it firmly behind him.

Ron and Harry sat in stunned silence for a moment before they both burst into stifled guffaws of laughter. Wiping his eyes, Ron fell back across the camp bed. 'D'you think we should have told him it was a bit too late for that lecture?'

Harry shook his head, rubbing his hands across his face. 'Wonder why he went all funny when he talked about not being ready for kids…?'

Ron sat up. 'Oh, you don't know?'

'Know what?'

'It's sort of a secret, but it's the worst-kept secret in the family.'

'Maybe you oughtn't to tell me,' Harry said quickly.

'Oh, Gin'll tell you soon enough, if I don't,' Ron dismissed airily. 'Mum was pregnant with Bill before they got married. She was four or five months gone at their wedding,' he added matter-of-factly. 'Dad was twenty and Mum was nineteen, and Auntie Muriel never lets her hear the end of it.'

Harry gnawed his thumbnail. 'Did they want to marry so early?' His own parents had married young, but Harry wasn't quite sure he wanted to do the same. He was still trying to figure out the ins and outs of being part of a family.

Ron shrugged. 'Yeah. If you hear Muriel tell it, they were planning on a December wedding as it was. And she goes on about the expense and fuss of pushing it back and doing things at the last minute.' Ron slid off the camp bad and crossed the room to his own bed. 'When she does it, Mum gets more and more upset, but she doesn't say anything, even though you can tell she'd like the curse the old bat into next Tuesday. Then Dad snaps at Muriel, and informs her she doesn't have to come for dinner at Christmas, and if she doesn't care to be in his home, she can go back to hers.' Ron slid under his quilt. 'Of course, he does that when we've been sent into the sitting room,' he said.

'What if the same thing happened with one of you?' Harry asked curiously.

It was as if he'd cast the largest Silencing charm of his life. Ron's mouth worked soundlessly for several long moments, before he spluttered, 'But I thought… You… Hadn't…'

'I haven't,' Harry said quickly. 'I mean, _we_ haven't. I was just wondering what they might say if the same thing happened to one of you.'

Ron shook his head. 'I think they'd be disappointed. I mean, look at Dad and how he went on about being responsible. But they'd never throw us out, or drop all sorts of snide comments, like Muriel does.' He pulled the quilt up to his shoulders, one blue eye giving Harry a thoughtful look. 'But you knew that already…' The eye closed and Ron fell asleep.

* * *

Harry held the garden gate open for Ginny. The early spring wind whipped around them, sending Ginny's hair flying, despite her efforts to tame it into a plait. The wind snatched tendrils of hair from the plait and toyed with them, tickling her ears and neck. Impatiently, Ginny swiped her hand over her face, palming strands of hair from her eyes. 'What do you have so far?' she asked.

Harry dug a piece of much-folded paper from his pocket. 'Everything for the kitchen, except for dinnerware and flatware. Molly took care of that for me. I need a bed, bureau, wardrobe, bedding, towels for the bath, a cot for Teddy, sofa, and a table for the kitchen.'

'And you plan on getting all of this today?' Ginny snorted.

'Going to have to,' Harry sighed. 'I went to look for a bed on a Saturday in London and nearly gave up. Too many people. Too many women with enormous prams… And I don't want to move in to the flat, and have to sleep on the camp bed for several more days.' He gave Ginny an embarrassed glance. 'And I'd like you to have some input…'

'Why? It's your flat,' Ginny argued.

'Aren't you going to…?' Harry bit back the rest of his comment. He jammed his hands into his pockets. 'Just need someone else's eye, is all.'

Ginny's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she took his assertion at face value. 'All right, then. Do you have some sort of plan?'

'Yeah.' Harry nodded. 'Gringotts first, to exchange enough money into pounds, then into London. Hit a couple of shops. We can get most of everything at one place. And I've got a few other places in mind, in case they haven't got what I want.' He started to Apparate, but stopped in mid-turn. 'Do you want to see the flat first?'

'I think I would.'

'Gringotts first, then we'll go to Soho,' Harry decided. He took Ginny's hand, and Apparated them to Diagon Alley.

* * *

Ginny stood in the middle of the bustling department store, with her hands on her hips, eyeing the rather large bed. She looked at Harry for a long moment, then back to the bed, her lower lip between her teeth. Harry waited next to her, nearly holding his breath. She hadn't said a word, just kept staring at the bed, an inscrutable expression on her face. 'Well?' he finally asked.

Ginny exhaled through her nose, a small line just visible between her brows. 'It's rather _large_ , isn't it?' she finally said.

'I suppose…'

Ginny pulled the end of her plait over her shoulder, and fiddled with the elastic binding it. Her head tilted to one side, as her eyes closed briefly, her imagination giving her dreams something new to consider. They flew open, her cheeks slightly pink. 'It's so you don't fall on the floor when you have nightmares, no?'

Harry nodded vigorously. 'Right. Nightmares.'

Ginny walked around the bed, her fingers wrapping around one of the posts. 'It doesn't put you in mind of school?'

'Why would it do that?'

Ginny let her other hand trail through the gauzy hangings that looped around the post. 'Yeah. Hi.'

'The canopy frame's optional,' Harry said helpfully.

Ginny sank to the mattress, a look of bliss coming over her face. 'I like the mattress...' she cooed, falling back with a happy sigh. 'You ought to try this.'

Glancing around only a little self-consciously, Harry dropped quickly to the edge, making Ginny bounce a little. She giggled, earning the two of them more than a few disapproving looks from a matronly sales clerk. Harry rolled his eyes and lowered himself to the mattress, propping his head up on his upturned hand. 'Do you like it?'

'Yeah.'

'Brilliant.' Harry leaned forward and kissed the tip of Ginny's nose. He rolled off the bed and strode to the sales clerk, smiling grimly at her haughty expression. _Don't be intimidated by her… She's no worse than Snape when he was at his slimiest…_ 'Excuse me,' he called. 'I'd like to purchase that bed, those two bedside tables, the triple wardrobe, and the five-drawer bureau.' The sales clerk's expression faltered slightly. 'And that cot over there – the one with the pine finish – with the matching changing unit.'

Flustered, the clerk moved to a desk, and began tapping on the keyboard of a computer. 'And how would you like to pay today, sir? Credit card?'

'Cash.'

'Cash?'

Harry peered at the clerk. 'Yes. Cash.'

'That's quite a lot of money,' the clerk began.

'I have the money,' Harry said, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, extracting a thick envelope.

'Did you rob a bank or something?' the clerk blurted, shocked into dropping her professional demeanor.

'Do you always question how a customer chooses to pay for their purchases?' Ginny inquired coolly behind Harry.

'I… erm…'

Harry slid his hand through the crook of Ginny's elbow. 'We can go elsewhere. Come on, Gin…' He began to walk toward the exit, but the clerk's voice stopped them.

'Wait. Cash, you said?'

'Yes. I did.' Harry gave the clerk a single contemptuous look.

'Where would you like the furniture delivered?'

Harry allowed himself a triumphant smile.

* * *

'It was brilliant!' Ginny exclaimed. 'Harry looked at her like she was Umbitch and started to leave. And she saw that fat commission walking out the door with him. She nearly curtseyed when we left.'

Hermione burst into gales of laughter. 'I wish I had seen that!' She snorted into the paper cup of coffee cradled between her hands. She looked around Harry's flat, filled with large carrier bags, furniture placed haphazardly around the sitting room. 'So tomorrow…'

'Yeah.'

'Blimey,' Ron muttered.

'What?' Harry prodded, nudging Ron in the ribs with an elbow.

'I haven't slept in a room by myself for longer than a few weeks since I was eleven years old,' he mused. 'And now…' He looked at Harry, his face thrown into shadows by the flame of the lamp in the middle of the table. 'When the bloody hell did we grow up?' he demanded.

'It seems like yesterday we were looking for Trevor on the train, and I told you your nose was dirty,' Hermione said wistfully.

'Or Ginny was putting her elbows in the butter dish,' Ron teased lightly.

'Oh, God, I thought we'd all forgotten that,' Ginny groaned. 'Remember how Mum used to only get worried when the explosions from Fred and George's room stopped?'

Ron hooted into his own cup of coffee. 'Yeah. She always said that's how she knew what they were up to. It took weeks to get rid of the stench when they mucked up one of their formulas for a trick sweet once. Had to keep their clothes in Bill or Percy's old room, just so they didn't reek of rotten eggs.'

Harry swirled the tea left in his cup. 'What did Molly say about tomorrow evening?'

Ron shrugged. 'Said not to rush home. George told her if she wanted to do something for his birthday, she should do it on another day. Just not April first.' He took a sip of his cooling coffee. 'I asked him today, if he wanted the shop to open tomorrow. He said no. I didn't figure he'd want to, but it didn't hurt to ask, did it?'

'Just as well,' Ginny said quietly. 'It doesn't seem right to have any sort of do tomorrow without Fred. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea for George to do it on another day.' She drained the remains of her tea and jabbed her wand at the green-and-white paper cup, Vanishing it. 'Just as well you're moving the rest of your things in here tomorrow,' she told Harry. 'Give us all something to think about besides…' She stood abruptly, pushing the chair across the tiled floor. It squealed loudly in the quiet kitchen. 'Let's go home. Get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.'


	51. And the World Goes Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sat up suddenly, his hair sticking up wildly. He snatched the softly ticking alarm clock from the night table and peered short-sightedly at it. He exhaled in relief as he read the time. It was just after seven o' clock in the morning. Clear morning light peeked through the drawn curtains over the window of Ron's bedroom.
> 
> Moving Day.

The door swung open under Percy's hand. _Hmmmm. It shouldn't have done that..._ he thought. He cautiously peered into the flickering semi-darkness of the sitting room. _I didn't leave a fire burning._ His eyes flicked across the room, and one brow rose slowly. 'How did you get in here?' he demanded.

'Do you really think Gryffindors and Slytherins are the only ones with tricks up their sleeves?' a gently mocking voice replied.

Percy closed the door behind him and leaned against it, examining the willowy blonde woman occupying his favorite chair. 'No, I suppose not.'

'Those charms you have on the door might be enough to outwit ordinary witches or wizards –'

'And you're hardly an ordinary witch,' Percy chuckled. He pulled his cloak off his shoulders and hung it neatly on a hook next to the door. 'I ought to teach the door knocker more difficult riddles.'

'Pffft,' the woman dismissed. 'You stole the idea from _our_ dormitory.'

'A most excellent idea it was, too,' Percy snorted. He advanced on the chair, placing his hands on each arm and leaning forward, gently kissing the woman sitting there. 'To what do I owe the honor of your presence, Pen?'

Penelope Clearwater tugged at Percy's arms until he relented and wedged himself into the chair with her. 'My flatmate's idea of a fun evening is organizing her sock drawer,' she complained.

'Isn't your flatmate Marion Trimbill from our year? And wasn't she a Ravenclaw as well?'

'Yes, and she's actually quite boring, I've come to discover.'

Percy grasped one of Penny's curls between his fingertips and pulled until it was nearly straight, releasing it so it bounced back into place. 'She was your best friend in school,' he scoffed.

'I know.' Penny shifted a little. 'But even you do something a bit wild and insane from time to time.'

Percy threw his head back and laughed. 'That curry place in Piccadilly Circus was quite an adventure, wasn't it?'

'More than a bit,' Penny retorted wryly. 'I thought smoke was going to pour out of your ears.'

Percy's hand crept up and began to massage the back of her neck. 'Up for more adventure?'

'Absolutely.'

Percy tilted his head to look at Penny. 'Fancy joining me for lunch on Sunday?'

Penny bit her lip doubtfully. 'Don't you have lunch with your family on Sundays?'

'Yes.'

She sat back a little. 'Have you even mentioned to them you've been seeing me?'

Percy toyed with Penny's hair. 'No,' he admitted shamefacedly.

Penny glanced at Percy reproachfully. 'Not once in the past five months has there been an opportunity for you to simply state, "Mum, Dad, I'm seeing someone." Not even a tiny gap in the conversation?'

Percy wriggled from the chair. He paced the length of the sitting room, which wasn't very long. He tugged at the precise knot of his tie, loosening it slightly, a sure sign of distress. 'There never seemed to be a good time,' he explained. 'First there was the investigation into my actions – or lack of them the previous three years. Then Harry was injured, and George disappeared. And the Death Eater trials started…' He pushed his glasses up, rubbing his gritty eyes. Percy knelt in front of the chair and rested his hands on Penny's knees. 'I've not been willfully withholding information from my family.' He paused to let Penny mull over what he's just said. 'Come have lunch with me on Sunday. Meet the rest of my crazed family,' Percy beseeched softly. 'And hopefully, you won't run screaming in the opposite direction.'

Penny searched Percy's face intently, but it was free from guile. 'All right.'

* * *

Harry sat up suddenly, his hair sticking up wildly. He snatched the softly ticking alarm clock from the night table and peered short-sightedly at it. He exhaled in relief as he read the time. It was just after seven o' clock in the morning. Clear morning light peeked through the drawn curtains over the window of Ron's bedroom.

Moving Day.

Anything that Harry was taking to the new flat and wasn't already there was crammed into Bill's old bedroom. Boxes of dishes, glassware, flatware, tea towels, dishcloths, pots, pans… Enough for Harry's kitchen to be considered fully functional. Molly had been determined to see that at least one of her children was able to feed himself properly. She had been the one that pored over the catalogues, marking pages for him. In the end, Harry had just told her to get what she felt he would need. He would have to pack his clothes and books before Dean, Seamus, Neville, Luna, and Hermione arrived. Just last night, Harry had realized just how much clothing he'd come to own in the past year. He credited Molly with that as well. The cupboard that held his clothes overflowed with trousers, jeans, shirts, t-shirts of various styles, jumpers, socks. A few extra pairs of shoes, including trainers. Even a couple of jackets. And not a set of wizard's robes in sight. Gradually, she'd replenished not only his wardrobe, but Ron's and George's as well. Molly had an excellent eye for fit and quality and for the first time in his life, _all_ of Harry's clothes fit, and not just his school uniform. He assumed Ginny would be due for a complete wardrobe overhaul when she finished school. Molly might be the first to admit she'd gone a bit overboard with their clothes, but Harry almost couldn't blame her. It was the first time any of them had the means to buy something new, solely for themselves, without waiting for an older sibling to outgrow it.

Harry stared at the shadows on the ceiling, the thought that at this time the next morning, he would awaken in his new bed, in his own bedroom, tugging playfully at his consciousness. Giving up the idea of going back to sleep as a bad job, Harry threw the bedding back, and rolled out of bed. He padded absently down the stairs to the bathroom, managing a hasty wash, cursing to himself when he realized he hadn't brought a set of clean clothes into the bathroom with him. Heaving a sigh, he wrapped the towel around his hips and poked his head out of the bathroom. The landing was deserted, so he ran down the stairs, running headlong into Ginny, on her way up to the bathroom.

They swayed on the stairs, clutching at each other's arms to keep the other one from falling. The towel, not secured very well to begin with, slithered to the floor, landing in a limp heap on their bare feet. Ginny's face erupted into a painful blush, and she resolutely kept her eyes fixed on a drop of water sparkling on Harry's bare shoulder. The droplet of water inched lower and as much as Ginny tried to not follow its journey downward, her eyes flicked down, then hastily back to Harry's throbbing pulse, visible in the hollow of his throat. 'I'll just…' Harry choked, crouching and blindly patting for the towel. Grabbing it with one hand, he swathed his hips in it once more, this time, clutching it securely with one hand. 'See you at breakfast,' he mumbled, darting around her, and all but running down the rest of the stairs to Bill's old bedroom.

Ginny had turned to watch him, a tiny line appearing, then vanishing between her brows. Part of her had wanted to follow him, and pull the towel away from his grasping hands. The other part wanted to scamper into the bathroom, and close the door, and try to forget the entire thing. So she settled for staying where she was, wishing she could trade places with that drop of water.

Harry heard Ginny return quietly to her bedroom. His hand convulsed around the edge of a partially-packed box. Of all the times he'd envisioned Ginny seeing him naked, none of them had ever taken place on the staircase of the Burrow. The Weasleys thought nothing of eating breakfast in their pajamas, and more often than not the belt of Ginny's dressing gown stubbornly refused to stay tied, even if she knotted it, leaving her nightdress exposed. Lounging in a state of _dishabille_ was not unusual in the Burrow. Running about in naught but a towel, however, was not.

Harry rubbed his hands over his face. At least tomorrow morning, he wouldn't have to worry if his towel stayed in place or not.

He continued to layer books into the boxes he'd charmed. Every textbook he'd ever used in school. All the books, professional journals and magazines he'd bought since he started working in the Auror department. He lifted the box experimentally. His ability to charm items like boxes and bags wasn't nearly as good as Hermione's, but it had gotten better the last several months. Seeing that the bottom of the box would hold, and it wasn't too difficult to carry, Harry tapped the top flaps of the box with his wand, and the edges sealed. He began the process of wedging his clothing into one large duffle bag, not caring if it became crumpled in the process.

'Mum's got breakfast ready,' Ron said behind him, voice still a little hoarse with sleep. He gazed around the bedroom in wonder. 'How long have you been awake?'

'What time is it?'

'Eight-thirty.'

'Over an hour…' Harry stuffed his shoes into his school bag. 'Neville, Seamus, and Dean said they'd be here at ten. Ginny said Luna'd probably come over at nine and have breakfast with us first.'

'After seeing what her father called cooking, I'm not surprised,' Ron told him. 'Hermione's just arrived if you want some help getting all this packed up.'

'I'm almost done,' Harry replied. For some reason, he couldn't quite identify, he wanted to do this himself. He fastened the flap and set the bag on the floor next to the box of books. 'George…?'

Ron shook his head. 'I asked him on Sunday, what he planned to do with the shop today, since I was going to help you move, but he just shook his head and said, he hadn't planned to open it today anyway.' He shrugged as if his shirt were too snug across the shoulders. 'I said I didn't figure he would have wanted to.'

'Good morning, Harry,' Hermione chirped, clattering up the stairs. She brushed a light kiss over his cheek. 'All packed, I see.'

'Purely so I didn't have to listen to you lecture me about getting things done ahead of time,' Harry retorted. He glanced up at the ceiling. 'I know George said it was all right, but I can't help but feel guilty about doing this today,' he murmured, gesturing to the pile of boxes. 'It didn't dawn on me at first that it was their birthday until after I'd signed everything.'

'George didn't…' Ron began. He ran a hand through his hair. 'Christmas is going to look like child's play compared to today. And George doesn't want anyone to fuss. Anything we can do just reminds him…' He looked through the window, jaw working.

The three of them stood silently. Harry supposed it was like losing an arm or a leg, or some other vital part of your body that you'd had your entire life, then it was suddenly removed without warning. He'd once overhead Mad-Eye at an Order meeting in Grimmauld Place that his missing foot still itched to the point of pain, and it nearly drove him mad with the desire to scratch it and the knowledge that he could not.

Ron cleared his throat. 'Breakfast?'

'Yeah.' Harry went down the stairs, unable to quell the rising tide of excitement. _One journey ends and another begins_ , he told himself. _It's the way of life, I suppose…_

* * *

Ginny glanced up from her place at the table. She was in the process of buttering her toast when Harry came through the door. Ginny's arm jerked and her elbow bumped against the edge of the butter dish, but Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and flicked it back. The butter dish slid across the table to a less dangerous location. Ginny murmured something indistinct, and buried her nose in her tea cup. Ron leaned down, his mouth near Hermione's ear. 'What's that all about? Gin hasn't knocked the butter off the table since…'

'Don't. Ask,' Hermione warned.

'Here you are, dears,' Molly said, just a bit too cheerfully. She began to dish eggs and sausages onto their plates, heedless of the muffled noises of protest at the amount of food piled on them. Dark circles ringed her eyes and she seemed distracted by something in the back garden. She moved the food around her own plate, and managed a bite or two of toast. Mostly, Molly gazed out of one of the kitchen windows, cradling a cup between her hands, the tea gone stone cold

Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione quickly ate their breakfasts, glancing guiltily at each other. They knew they ought to have perhaps lingered a little to wait for Luna, but the expression on Molly's face made them slightly uneasy. Not once in the days before, nor after, Fred's funeral, had Molly exhibited the level of despondence she did now. Ron's head jerked toward the door and the four of them gathered their plates and cutlery, setting them in the sink before they retreated to the sitting room. Ginny paused next to Molly, however, and slid an arm around her mother's slightly hunched shoulders. She leaned her head against Molly's, their fiery locks blazing in the sunlight. Molly's head turned slightly to take in her daughter's worried face. She smiled a little and cupped a hand over Ginny's cheek. 'It will pass,' Molly told her quietly, kissing Ginny's forehead. 'Go on with you.'

Ginny looked at her doubtfully. 'I can stay…' she began tentatively, but Molly waved her off.

'I'll be all right. Go help Harry get himself sorted and settled.'

Ginny bit her lip, but nodded, her arm tightening around Molly in a brief embrace before she joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

'Are you going to take the things from your parents' house?' Hermione asked Harry.

Harry paled slightly. 'Erm… I hadn't really thought about it,' he replied lamely. He had, in fact, considered taking the books, letters, and photographs he'd found, but when he'd gone into the attic to bring them down to Bill's old room, he couldn't make himself pick up so much as one of the boxes. He hadn't been able shake the feeling that he was plundering their graves, so he left them to collect dust in the Burrow's attic amongst the Weasleys' things.

'Why don't we bring Harry's things down here so we won't have to waste time when the others arrive,' Ginny suggested, changing the subject. 'And how are we dragging all of it to London, hmm? Luna and I haven't passed the Apparition test yet. I'm not sure about Seamus, because we didn't really learn how last year, and he hadn't taken the test before school started. Neville has his license, I think, and so does Dean,' she said practically. 'You won't want to Side-Along Luna, Seamus, and me all day, will you?'

'The Floo's been connected,' Harry said quickly. 'We'll use that.'

'Brilliant,' Ron muttered, lunging up the stairs. 'What are we waiting for?'

* * *

Dean set the last box down on the floor with a slight grunt. 'I didn't know you had this much rubbish,' he told Harry.

'I didn't until two weeks ago,' Harry sighed. He gazed around the room in increasing dismay at the carrier bags, boxes, and general detritus that suddenly appears when one moves into a new home. 'Godric, where do we start?' he asked in bewilderment.

'I'll take the kitchen,' Ron volunteered.

'Why? Because you learned how to cook a little, you're suddenly an expert in arranging and organizing kitchens?' Ginny scoffed.

'More than you are,' Ron retorted. His ears remained their usual color. Mere banter between siblings. He waved his wand at a haphazard stack of boxes, and they rose into the air. He directed them into the kitchen, walking behind the floating boxes.

Neville walked into the kitchen, peering into a grubby knapsack. 'I brought some cuttings of the more common medicinal herbs. Thought it might be easier if you had them around, then you could brew the potions yourself.' He began to rummage through the recesses of the knapsack. 'Dittany, of course… Looks like a Muggle herb… Some Muggle herbs… Lavender, goldenseal, comfrey…' he murmured absently. 'Just need to use dragon dung fertilizer to increase their potency, but you know that…' He gestured toward the kitchen. 'Is that window the only access to the balcony?'

Harry turned and nodded. The large window resembled a small set of French doors. A tall person would have to stoop to get through them. 'Yeah…'

'Look at it this way,' Neville said over his shoulder, making his way into the kitchen. 'Most Aurors can't stand being in the hospital. At least that's what I'm told at work. Don't like to come in for anything less than loss of life or limb. Prefer to take care of the small injuries themselves.'

'Do ye want t' leave the sofa over there, then?' Seamus asked. 'Or move it under the window?'

Before Harry could reply, he heard a shriek of giggles coming from the bathroom, where Hermione, Ginny, and Luna had gone to, in Hermione's words, make sure it was cleaned properly at least once, before they arranged his things in it. _I don't want to know_ , Harry sighed to himself, and began to help Seamus and Dean put the sitting room into some sort of order.

In the bathroom, Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth, and jabbed her wand at the door. It closed with a soft _click_. 'It was… I don't know…' Her cheeks flushed with the memory of Harry's naked body, roped with wiry muscle, dark hair dusting over his chest and swirling around his navel before descending in a plunging line down his abdomen. 'He caught me sneaking a peek,' she admitted, pressing her palms to her burning face.

'Did you like what you saw?' Hermione teased. Ginny's face grew even redder. 'I'll take that as a yes…' She watched Luna arrange, then rearrange Harry's shaving things on a small shelf over the sink. 'What on earth are you doing?'

'Making sure everything's organized,' Luna said vaguely. Hermione's eyebrow rose, because Luna had placed the razor next to a tube of toothpaste and the brush for the shaving soap was balanced on the edge of the shelf, clear on the other side from the small cup containing a cake of woody-scented shaving soap. She shook it off as one of Luna's crackpot ideas and turned back to Ginny.

'Haven't you ever wanted to see…?' Hermione asked.

Ginny carefully placed a stack of neatly folded towels on a shelf. 'Yes.' She reached for a corresponding stack of face cloths. 'The three of you lived in close quarters last year…' she began.

Hermione bit her lip. 'Never saw Harry,' she assured Ginny. 'Saw Ron a few times,' she admitted impishly.

Ginny's nose wrinkled. 'Ew. That's my prat of a brother you're talking about.'

'You asked,' Hermione reminded her primly, before dissolving into giggles.

Luna snorted, an uncharacteristically harsh sound coming from someone prone to misty pronouncements. 'It's just a body,' she said. 'Everybody has one. Half the population has what Harry has and the other half has what you do. It's not a mystery.'

Ginny stared at Luna, open-mouthed. 'If you say one word about Harry and his "wand"…' she spluttered.

'It won't be any worse than that smut you insist on reading in your spare time,' Hermione laughed. 'Honestly, Ginny…'

'I'll have you know those books are quite educational,' Ginny argued loftily. 'And it's much better than going into something like that completely ignorant.'

Luna leaned against the counter, a bottle of shampoo clutched in her hand. 'Are you…?' Her eyes were wide and round. 'Before we go back to school…?'

Ginny shrugged and fiddled with the edge of the shower curtain, dropping to the edge of the tub. 'I don't know,' she finally said, twisting her fingers together. 'Maybe.'

'Remember what the Muggles say,' Luna interjected. 'No glove, no love.' Her feathery brows drew together in a frown. 'What do they mean by that? Do they wear gloves…? That's awfully strange for an activity that relies on tactile sensation…' Hermione quickly smoothed her face into a neutral expression, and explained the meaning of phrase. Luna's face cleared. 'Oh, well, that makes sense…'

Hermione joined Luna in leaning against the counter, studying Ginny's tense face. 'You don't have to do anything you don't want to do,' she said briskly. 'Even if he wants to and you don't. But I know Harry wouldn't try to force you into doing something you're not willing to do.'

'I know that,' Ginny said dryly. 'And right now, that's the only thing I'm sure I know…'

* * *

'Harry, why do ye want to live with Muggles?' Seamus asked, methodically shelving Harry's old schoolbooks by subject, then year.

'It's quieter. No reporters camping out on my doorstep.' The war had been over for almost a year, and random reporters managed to find their way to Devon and the Burrow, waiting for Harry to reveal everything about his experiences last year. Ever since Rita Skeeter had published that vile book about him, they had flocked back to the lane outside the boundaries of the property. 'And it's not totally with Muggles,' he added defensively. 'The Leaky Cauldron's just a few blocks away.'

'Right,' said Seamus. 'I still think ye're nutters…'

Harry left Seamus to deal with the books and went into his bedroom and began to unpack his clothing. Truth be told, he felt living around Muggles like this made him less of a target. Muggles didn't know, or care, who Harry Potter was. For all they knew he was a real as Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle. But he couldn't shake the feeling every time he went into the wizarding world, there was someone watching him, even if nobody was there.

Methodically arranging his t-shirts in the wardrobe, Harry chanted to himself, _They're gone, Harry. Riddle, the Lestranges, Dolohov, even Greyback. They're gone._

'Harry?' Ron stood in the doorway, Hermione behind him. 'Did you say something?'

Startled, Harry's head jerked up. 'I didn't say anything.' He saw Hermione and Ron exchange a look, before they went back into the other room. Harry stared after them for a moment. Had he been talking out loud? And if he had, what exactly had they heard?

He didn't have much time to contemplate the issue before someone rapped smartly on the door of the flat. Ron frowned, and quickly counted everyone, before squinting at the door. 'Who…?' he muttered.

Harry straightened his shoulders and strode to the door, ready to hex the expected reporter on the other side when he opened it. He was greeted by a plate piled with ginger biscuits under his nose, held by a pair of masculine hands with exquisitely manicured nails. Harry raised his eyes to the owner of the hands and found himself goggling at the man holding the plate, before he remembered the day he'd come to let the flat and had seen the man walk past the building. 'Erm, hello,' Harry stammered.

The man's face split into a wide smile. 'Hello. I'm Bob. I live on the first floor.' He held the biscuits toward Harry. 'These are for you. My partner Ted baked them and told me in no uncertain terms I was to bring them up today.'

'Th-thanks,' Harry rasped. 'Erm… I'm Harry…' Harry said awkwardly, and stepped back a little. 'These are my friends… Seamus, Dean, Luna, Neville, Hermione, Ron, and my girlfriend Ginny…'

'How nice to meet you all,' Bob said genially, his eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze passed over Seamus, who had pressed his back tightly against the wall, a slightly panicked expression on hs face. Bob looked at Harry. 'Could I have a quick word in private?' he asked.

'Sure…' Harry handed the plate of biscuits to Neville, who yelped, scrubbing his hands over the sides of his jeans, trying to remove some of the smudges of potting soil from them, and followed Bob out to the landing. 'I'm sorry… Were we too loud?'

'It's about your friend… The one with the sandy hair?'

'Seamus?'

'He needs professional help, lad,' Bob said bluntly.

'What makes you say that?' Harry asked, hoping for a casual tone.

'Child, please,' Bob said. 'I've been around the block more than a few times. I've seen that same reaction when strangers come into a room on more than one person – male and female. I can give you the name of someone –'

'I don't know,' Harry interrupted. 'I mean, he might want to see someone closer to his home… He doesn't live in London, you see,' he added hastily, lest he come off as rude.

Bob nodded. 'Very well. But if you change your mind… Ted and I live in flat B2. If we're not home, just leave a note and I'll get the information to you.' He turned to walk down the stairs, but stopped, giving Harry a hard look. 'It's best if he gets help sooner rather than later, mind.'

'Yeah…' Harry slid his hands into his pockets. 'I'll see what I can do…' His head bobbed shyly. 'It was nice to meet you…' Bob continued down the stairs and Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes.

'Harry?' Dean's voice broke into Harry's reverie. 'Ron's about to gnaw his own arm off. Claims he's faint from hunger, and Hermione won't let him have another biscuit,' he told Harry, amusement coloring his voice. 'I don't know Soho that well, but I do know of a few places to get some decent takeaway…'

Harry inhaled deeply. It was the perfect opportunity to talk to Dean about what he wanted to do in Teddy's bedroom. And to mention his conversation with Bob. 'Let's just tell the others, eh?' He ran a hand through his hair, and sidled past Dean into the flat.

Dean motioned to their left and struck out down the pavement. 'There's a really good Chinese takeaway place just down there,' he said. 'Not horribly expensive, but then again, you're feeding Ron…'

Harry laughed and followed Dean's lead. 'True.' He walked quietly, dodging people for a moment, then spoke quietly. 'What has Seamus told you about last year?' he asked.

'Enough,' Dean said succinctly. 'Why? What do you know?'

Harry kept his eyes straight ahead. 'I saw him in January before I got hurt.' He rubbed his jaw where Seamus had punched him. 'I approached him from the back, and he punched me. He came by the Ministry in March and Ron, Nev, Seamus, and I went for a drink when I got off work. He acted much like he was when Bob was at the flat earlier.'

Dean's eyes closed briefly, and his lips pressed together tightly. 'He's not getting better…'

'Bob said he knows someone who might help Seamus…’ Harry ventured. 'And maybe you can talk to him…?'

'I can't promise anything, mate,' Dean said. 'But I'll try.' He glanced at Harry. 'So what is it you want me to do to the baby's room? '

Harry grinned. 'Can you make your drawings move?'

'Yeah.'

'Brilliant. Make the walls yellow… Not bright yellow, like Hufflepuff colors, but like butter… And I'll need you to draw a wolf, a large black dog, and a stag.'

'Why those?' Dean asked curiously.

Harry's grin grew wider. 'I'll tell you later. It's quite a story.'

* * *

Dean opened his bag and pulled out a supply of pencils and pastels. 'So… What's the story behind this?' he prodded.

Harry stuck a fork into a white cardboard box and speared a prawn, mouth watering at the scent of garlic wafting on the steam rising from inside the box. He chewed the prawn and swallowed, peering into the box. 'Well, you know my dad, Sirius, and Pet... another friend of theirs,' he amended, 'were determined to help Remus with his furry little problem. So the three of them spent three years studying and finally by their fifth year, were able to transform into animals – they became Animagi, just like McGonagall.' He replaced the carton with steamed prawns and picked up the one with shredded duck. 'Sirius was large black dog, their friend was a rat – which turned out to be rather prescient – and my dad was a stag.'

'Like your Patronus,' Luna said, fascinated.

'Yeah.' Harry poked his fork into a carton of fried rice. 'Anyway, every month, during the full moon, Dad, Sirius, and their friend would sneak out of the castle and join Remus in the Shrieking Shack.' He ate the rice balanced on the end of his fork. 'And Dad, Remus, and Sirius were best mates, so I thought it would be neat if they were here…'

Dean used a pencil to quickly sketch a shaggy outline of a wolf. He could set the pastels to color in the drawings later. He glanced at Harry, animatedly regaling their friends with tales of his father's adventures, then turned his full attention to the mural. It seemed to be the least he could do for both Harry and Teddy – to give them their fathers in some small measure.

* * *

Harry slumped against the arched entrance to the kitchen, and surveyed the sitting room. While he and Dean had gone to fetch the food, Luna had taken it upon herself to rearrange the furniture. The sofa was slanted at an odd angle away from the window, and the armchair was now next to the fireplace. The bookcase was wedged next to the kitchen entrance. 'Explain why…' he breathed in bewilderment.

'If you put the bookcase away from exterior walls, it keeps the knowledge from disappearing. The sofa angled like that balances your energies outside and inside the home, and the armchair anchors the soul of home,' Luna explained airily.

Harry found himself rubbing his hand over his face. It had become a frequent gesture as the day wore on. 'Fine,' he muttered, aware of how ungracious he sounded. 'Thanks, Luna…'

'My pleasure, Harry!' Luna chirped. She hugged him and ducked into the fireplace, vanishing in the roar of green flames.

Harry gave Neville one of those particularly male hugs that involved much back-pounding. 'Thanks for the greenhouse, Nev,' he said sincerely.

'I know how you feel about hospitals,' Neville laughed, before he, too, stepped into the fireplace.

Seamus held out a hand and Harry shook it warmly. 'Thank you, Seamus.'

Seamus nodded once, a tense smile flashing across his face, before he bolted for the fireplace.

Dean clapped Harry on the back. 'The mural looks…' Harry shook his head. 'It's marvelous. It really is.'

'No worries, mate.' Dean headed for the front door.

'You're not using the Floo?' Ron blurted.

'My mum and dad just live over in West Ham,' Dean reminded Ron. 'I can take the Tube.' He looked over his shoulder at Harry. 'Owl me that bloke's name, yeah?'

'First thing next week,' Harry promised. Dean slipped out of the door, and his footsteps faded quickly on the stairs. Only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were left and Harry exhaled deeply, sighing in relief. He turned to them, grouped on the askew sofa. 'Who left Luna alone in here?' he demanded wearily.

Ron looked at Hermione, who glared back at him. 'It wasn't me!' Hermione exclaimed. 'I was with Ginny unpacking Teddy's things.' Her brows drew together. 'You were the one dawdling with the kitchen.'

Harry held up a hand and he dropped into the armchair. 'You know what? Forget it. I can move it all back.' He gazed around the room. 'Later.'

'Right then.' Ron heaved himself to his feet, and held out his hands to Hermione. She took them, and he pulled her off the sofa. 'I guess we'll head home, too…' He gestured to the door. 'Can we Apparate from the landing?'

'Yeah.'

Ron looked over his shoulder at Ginny, still curled on one end of the sofa. 'Aren't you coming?'

'There are a few more things to do still,' Ginny replied calmly, sliding off the sofa, and picking up a bundle next to her.

'Like what?' Ron grumbled.

'Ron. Go home,' Ginny ordered.

'What is that?' Ron asked.

'Sheets for Harry's bed,' Ginny huffed. 'Nobody got round to making it. I daresay he'd prefer to sleep in his bed tonight than on the sofa.'

Ron's eyes widened, and he planted his feet in the middle of the floor. 'We'll wait.'

'What?' Hermione spluttered. 'Why?'

Ron's eyes bulged. 'I'm not leaving Ginny alone here with Harry!' he hissed.

'Oh, honestly, Ronald,' Hermione breathed, visibly annoyed. 'It's Harry.'

'Did you see the size of that thing?' he said through clenched teeth, pointing stiffly in the direction of Harry's bedroom.

'I have. It's quite nice.' Hermione tugged Ron to the door. 'Leave them be, Ron. They're both of age, and you have absolutely no ground to stand on, you know…'

'But…' Ron protested, dragging his feet.

'We'll see you later, Harry,' Hermione said over her shoulder, as she all but pulled Ron out of the flat, using her wand to close the door behind them. Harry and Ginny could hear the soft _pop_ as she Disapparated, presumably Side-Alonging a recalcitrant Ron.

Ginny shook her head, giving Harry a long-suffering look. 'You'd think I was some sheltered maiden in distress,' she scoffed. She trudged into Harry's bedroom. 'Let's get this bed made, eh? Then we can relax for a bit.' Harry followed her. They stood on opposite sides of the wide bed, Ginny holding the one side of the sheet. She unfurled it gracefully over the bed, and together, they pulled, tucked, and smoothed the sheet into place.

Harry ran a hand over the sheet. 'Tighter,' he murmured automatically.

'What?'

'Huh?' Harry stared at Ginny.

'What do you mean, "tighter"?'

Harry shook himself. He habitually made his bed with the exacting precision he'd learned from his aunt. But it dawned on him he no longer had to adhere to such strict procedures. 'It's fine,' he told Ginny. 'Just… used to…' He looked up. 'Quilt?' Ginny draped the quilt over the bed, and they spread it neatly over the bed, once again, working in tandem. Harry felt some of the tension from the day ebb from his shoulders.

The bed made, Harry toed off his trainers and collapsed across the bed with a soft groan. He was dimly aware of Ginny doing the same. He opened his eyes and brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. 'Thank you,' he said fervently, drawing closer and kissing her. He'd meant it to be a quick peck, but it quickly veered into something more passionate.

Harry shifted until Ginny was straddling him, his hand sliding under the hem of her shirt, skimming over the skin of her back. He traced the edge of her bra, dying to unhook the bloody garment and fling both it and her shirt to the floor. He contented himself with brushing his fingertips in swirling patterns over her skin. Ginny drew back a little, a mysterious smile playing over her lips. She toyed with the buttons of his shirt, undoing the top two, her hand slipping underneath the soft cotton, caressing the warm skin over his collarbone. Harry's other hand floated up and lit on the button of Ginny's jeans. Ginny's breath caught, but she made no move to stop him, so Harry tried to unfasten them.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Ginny's free hand suddenly slapped Harry's hand away. She stared at him, wide-eyed, confused. Didn't she want this? Ginny shook her head, and replaced Harry's hand at the waistband of her jeans, leaning down to kiss him. Harry fumbled a little, but managed to slide the button through the buttonhole. _Smack_! Ginny slapped his hand away once more. She frowned, sitting up. This was Harry. He wasn't just the dream she'd had as a little girl anymore. He was the object of several erotic fantasies, the reason she kept a steady supply of chocolate in the drawer of her night table at school. He was the one responsible for the throbbing heat deep in her belly. She determinedly picked up his hands, and placed them over the zipper of her jeans. Harry looked up at her questioningly, but Ginny nodded encouragingly. Harry took a deep breath and fumbled for the zipper tab and slowly pulled it down a little. Ginny instinctively slapped his hand away. She ran a shaking hand through her hair and met Harry's bemused eyes. 'I'm not ready,' she blurted, surprise evident on her face.

'What?' Harry gasped.

'What?' Ginny stared at him, her mouth falling open. She slid off Harry and sat next to him, her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. 'I'm not ready,' she said slowly. It was as much a revelation to her as it was to him. 'I think I'd like to wait a little longer.'

Harry sat up and reached for one of Ginny's hands. He felt strangely relieved that she wanted to wait. If they were going to be honest with each other, he would have to admit the same. The saying absence making the heart grow fonder had a kernel of truth to it. _Makes other parts grow fonder as well_ , Harry thought ruefully, trying to unobtrusively adjust his jeans. And who was to say their mutual arousal wasn't due to the extended separation from their situation, with Ginny still in school? He wondered if it would feel the same if they saw each other more frequently. 'So do I,' he told her at length.

Ginny looked at him askance. 'You do?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah. I mean, we haven't been around each other much for the past year, and I…' he trailed off, slightly embarrassed.

'You want it to be about more than shagging like crazed weasels,' Ginny finished dryly.

'I, erm… Yeah.' Harry slid an arm around Ginny's waist and she rested her head against his shoulder. 'We don't have to do what everybody else does.'

'If by "everybody else" you mean Ron and Hermione, no… No, we don't.' Ginny heaved a sigh. 'So we'll wait.'

Harry pressed a kiss to Ginny's temple. 'I guess we'll know when it's the right time,' he murmured.

Ginny turned her head and captured Harry's mouth in a soft kiss. 'I love you, Harry.'

'And I love you, Ginevra.' Harry's forehead lowered to Ginny's. 'I ought to get you home,' he said regretfully. He wanted her to stay, to sleep twined around him, like she had the other night.

'I can Floo myself home,' Ginny informed him. 'But I don't have to be home straightaway, do I?'

'No.' Harry fell back into the pillows, taking Ginny with him. 'We can stay here for a while.' His nose brushed over Ginny's. 'Maybe snog a little?' he added hopefully.

'Sounds lovely,' Ginny murmured against his mouth.


	52. To Arrive Where We Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A head appeared over the edge of the cubicle. 'That's what happens when you take that many days off, Gladys,' said a snide voice. Harry's head snapped up at the sound. For once it wasn't Avery Carmichael, coming to gloat over his mistakes and missteps. It was one of the others. Harry could hear Hermione's voice whispering in his head, Ignore them… Still, compared to what he had received at hands of Draco and the other Slytherins, being called a girl's name was pretty tame.
> 
> 'Yeah, thanks for the advice,' Harry replied neutrally. 'I'll try to keep that in mind.' The Auror smirked and continued through the winding maze of cubicles. Harry shook his head and opened the first folder to review the procedures for entering Azkaban. While it was still more than three months away, he needed the practice using Legilimency on resistant wizards. Fortunately, he had an entire office of them in the form of the younger Aurors and the trainees. Resistant… ha! Resentful is more like it… he grumbled to himself. You always wanted to be treated like everyone else, Harry, he told himself sternly. And that's what they're doing… No special favors.

Harry's bare feet padded quietly against the wood floors of the flat. Lamps burned softly in his bedroom, throwing a warm glow into the corridor. He could have pressed the switch on the wall and used the electric lights, but the lamplight made him feel more anchored to reality. It was what had greeted him when he came home from work after a trying day, missions, and anything else unpleasant he was forced to deal with on a daily basis. Besides, he hadn't actively used electricity in almost two years. He wandered restlessly from room to room, picking up things, then setting them down. He ached with the need for sleep, but was unable to settle. He'd tried counting sheep, but the bloody beasts had only piled up in a corner of his mental pasture. He tried clearing his mind, like he'd unsuccessfully attempted to do his fifth year, but he just mulled over his conversation with Ginny before she went home. He had finally flung himself from the recesses of his bed; feeling lost in the unfamiliar expanse of bedding, and sought refuge in a hot bath. The bath had soothed the tension in his body into bonelessness, but sleep wasn't forthcoming.

It was too quiet, Harry decided. Far too quiet. He didn't hear Ron's soft, steady snores as he fell asleep, or the ghoul clanking above them. The sounds of the Burrow were absent, and it made Harry feel homesick. He chewed his lip, staring into space, then spun on his heel, and darted into his bedroom, opening the wardrobe containing his clothing. He grabbed his newest Christmas jumper from a shelf and pulled it over his head, inhaling the mingled scents of the laundry soap Molly used and the scents of her baking that somehow permeated the laundry.

It was the scent of home. He held his arm under his nose and breathed deeply, feeling his mind still.

Harry climbed into the bed and buried his nose in the sleeve of the jumper. His eyes drifted shut and he knew nothing more.

* * *

'Katie?' George shook her shoulder. 'Katie? Wake up…'

Katie blearily gazed at George's face looming over hers. 'Where are we…?' she yawned, still more than half-asleep.

'Burrow.'

'Mmmm.' Katie turned her face into George's shoulder and hooked a leg over his hip. 'Wha' time is it?'

'Almost midnight,' George said, sliding his hand up the back of her thigh, fingertips leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind them. He shifted hungrily against her, lips brushing over her hair. 'I need to go do something…' he told her reluctantly, pulling back slightly.

Katie stretched elaborately, waking up all at once. She sat up, the sheet tangled around her torso. 'Fred?' she asked succinctly.

George nodded, his eyes dark, unhappy pools in the darkened room.

Katie began to struggle from the confining sheet. 'I'll go with you.'

'You don't…' George protested softly.

'I know I don't.' Katie brushed George's hair from his face. 'But I want to.' She managed to wriggle free, and the sheet slithered to her feet in a whisper of crumpled cotton. 'Where're my trousers?' she asked distractedly, searching the floor.

George slid out of his bed, feet tangling in the abandoned sheet. 'Down there somewhere,' he murmured, gesturing toward the floor, stumbling as the sheet wrapped around his ankles. Growling in frustration, he kicked violently to rid himself of the offending piece of material, but only succeeded in slamming his toes against the frame of the bed. 'Bloody, buggering shite!' he said through clenched teeth. He sat down hard on the floor, clutching his abused toes in his hands. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. Tears of pain and loss that he had refused to shed all day dripped down his cheeks. 'I can't… I can't…' George palmed the tears from his face, sniffling noisily like a child. He looked up at Katie, crouching next to him. 'Could I stay with you for a few days?'

'Of course you can.'

George rested his forehead on his drawn-up knees for a moment. 'Can't be here…'

'Shhh,' Katie whispered. She unwound the sheet from George's feet. 'Come on… Get yourself dressed and we'll go…'

'Fred first,' George insisted.

'Fred first,' Katie agreed. She looked around the room and found an old school bag dangling from a hook on the back of the door. 'We'll get a few things together, then…' George nodded and lurched to his feet. He opened a few drawers in the bureau and grabbed whatever his hands happened to touch first, and stuffed it into the bag. He grabbed the jeans hanging from the bedpost and yanked them on. He took the socks Katie handed him, and drew them over his feet, then pulled on his old trainers. He pushed his wand into his pocket and cautiously opened the door. He'd heard Ron return home several hours ago, followed quite a bit later by Ginny.

George gestured for Katie to follow him. 'Stay close to the sides,' he whispered. 'Stairs won't creak so loud…' He stole down to the ground floor, holding his breath the entire time. 'I hope I haven't forgotten anything…'

'You've got some odds and ends at my flat,' Katie told him, concentrating on the stairs.

'Just as long as I don't have to go to the shop in my pants, I'll be fine,' George said softly, as they made their way into the kitchen. 'Hang on.' He rummaged in one of the drawers, coming up with a slightly bent quill and a scrap of parchment. He scrawled a note to Molly, folded the parchment, and propped it against the old teapot where she would be certain to see it. 'Let's go.'

* * *

Katie slid to the ground, her back against a tree, surrounded by previous generations of Weasleys. It was oddly comforting. George knelt in front of Fred's headstone, face pressed to the cold marble. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. She burned with curiosity, but didn't dare attempt to try and eavesdrop. As far as she was concerned, what George said to Fred was between the two of them. It was quiet there, save for the murmur of the wind in the leaves of the tree above them.

'Do you remember the year Mum and Dad scrimped and saved to get us toy brooms for our birthday?' George murmured almost soundlessly. 'It was the last time we got something new for our birthday for ages.' He swallowed the lump in his throat. 'I didn't open the shop today. I think maybe I should have, though. Maybe I will next year. Half-off all Skiving Snackboxes.' The corner of his mouth lifted briefly, then fell. 'I just couldn't stand everybody looking at me today, and thinking about you. I'm going to stay with Katie for a bit… She's angling for sainthood, that girl. Puts up with me and my moods.

'You know how Mum used to say change isn't necessarily a bad thing? That may be, but every time something changes, it feels like I have to say good-bye to you all over again. I hate that I have to keep living and do all the things you'll never get to do.' George let his palm rest against Fred's name for several long moments, until the marble beneath his hand warmed and he let himself believe for the slightest instant that it was Fred's hand. 'I'll see you soon, bro…' He rose to his feet and turned toward Katie. He could tell she had drifted off by the angle of her head against the tree's trunk. It had been a long day for her. For them both. The back of George's index finger stroked with the lightness of a feather over her cheek. 'Katie?'

''m awa'…' she mumbled.

'We can go.'

''kay…' Katie took George's proffered hand, and he hauled her to her feet.

'I'll Apparate us,' George said against her ear, winding her arms around his waist, feeling a twinge of guilt that he'd allowed Katie to take on the burden of looking after him all day. Katie merely nodded in mute assent.

* * *

The pile of paperwork that greeted Harry in the morning seemed to cling to his desk with invisible tentacles. He stuck out his tongue at it and dropped his bag behind the desk with a put-upon sigh, and began to leaf through it. Folders littered the surface of the desk, neatly labeled with Percy's painfully neat penmanship. Harry gingerly opened the topmost folder and was unable to stop the audible hum of distress that escaped him. Part many of the Death Eaters' sentences required they undergo questioning by Aurors. Because so many of the former Death Eaters currently resided in Azkaban, they had to go there. The Ministry wouldn't glean any more useful information from them, but it was a precaution. After learning how Barty Crouch, Jr. had managed to escape, Kingsley was taking no chances. Harry would use Legilimency to sift through their memories of the past year. It made him nauseated to just think about it. Harry dropped into the chair and sorted through the dark purple folders, cursing the day Dumbledore declared he ought to learn Occlumency and by extension, Legilimency. With the exception of Draco – and Harry still couldn't figure out for the life of him why the Ministry thought he would be the best option to deal with Draco – the rest of his list was fairly innocuous, as far as this went. He had the dubious honor of having Miles Nott on his list, having been the one to capture him last autumn. Flint, Avery, Urquhart… Even though it was only nine o'clock in the morning, Harry fought the urge to yank his glasses off and run his hands through his hair until it stood on end even more than it did now.

A head appeared over the edge of the cubicle. 'That's what happens when you take that many days off, Gladys,' said a snide voice. Harry's head snapped up at the sound. For once it _wasn't_ Avery Carmichael, coming to gloat over his mistakes and missteps. It was one of the others. Harry could hear Hermione's voice whispering in his head, _Ignore them…_ Still, compared to what he had received at hands of Draco and the other Slytherins, being called a girl's name was pretty tame.

'Yeah, thanks for the advice,' Harry replied neutrally. 'I'll try to keep that in mind.' The Auror smirked and continued through the winding maze of cubicles. Harry shook his head and opened the first folder to review the procedures for entering Azkaban. While it was still more than three months away, he needed the practice using Legilimency on resistant wizards. Fortunately, he had an entire office of them in the form of the younger Aurors and the trainees. _Resistant… ha! Resentful is more like it…_ he grumbled to himself. _You always wanted to be treated like everyone else, Harry,_ he told himself sternly. _And that's what they're doing… No special favors._

* * *

Harry walked into the shop, the picture of tranquility. He passed Ginny at the counter, finalizing a sale at the till, pausing to drop a quick kiss on her cheek, then headed straight for Ron, grabbing his arm in an iron grip, propelling him into the back room. 'Oi!' Ron yelped. 'That hurts! And in case you haven't noticed, mate, I've got customers waiting!'

'We need to talk.'

'Sure…' Ron gave Harry a quizzical look. 'What's going on?'

'You!' Harry huffed. 'You are the biggest hypocrite in England,' he stated heatedly.

'I beg your pardon?' Ron gasped.

Harry glared at Ron in aggravation. 'Where were you last Saturday night, eh?'

'Erm… With… I don't see how this is relevant,' Ron temporized.

'It's relevant because it means you're a bloody hypocrite,' Harry pointed out. 'You were with Hermione, no?'

'I…' Ron withered under his friend's disapproving glower.

'Exactly,' Harry said in satisfaction. He gave in to the urge that had tugged at him all day and raked a hand through his hair. 'Do I ever make a fuss about you staying the night with Hermione? Or slipping away to… Well, to do what you do?'

'No,' Ron muttered sullenly.

'Then you have to stop hovering over Gin and me every time we might spend more than five seconds alone with each other!' Harry shouted. He poked Ron in the chest. 'I'm not going to force myself on her. I had hoped you knew I had more sense than that.' Harry's hand clenched into a fist. 'And Gin is of age. In less than three months, she'll be out of school. Could you at least give her credit for being able to take care of herself? Or knowing what _she_ wants? She doesn't need you to hover and make a fuss about the idea that she and I _might_ do more than hold hands and play bleeding Scrabble!' he roared. 'And it's rich. It's entirely too rich coming from you. Or need I remind you about Lav-Lav?' he said acidly.

Ron blinked. 'Bad day at work, dear?' he drawled sarcastically.

Harry threw him a caustic look, and began to pace restlessly around the perimeter of the back room. 'Bugger off, Ron,' he spat.

Ron reared back at the vehemence of Harry's response. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. Harry waved him off, slightly abashed at his own anger. 'It's just…' Ron paused. 'I know what I want and who I want it with…' he stammered. 'I made plenty of stupid mistakes getting to this point, and I don't fancy seeing either you or Gin repeat them.'

'And acting like some sort of maiden aunt is going to prevent that?' Harry scoffed incredulously.

'One can hope,' Ron muttered petulantly.

Harry shook his head. 'No. You don't get to dictate what Gin and I do. I didn't make a move for her for ages at school because I was worried you'd start acting like this.'

'Like how?'

'Like some over-protective wanker. You can't act like a politician and bleat about how I ought to behave while you're acting like some bloody libertine!'

Ron's lips twitched. 'Libertine?' he snickered. 'Where did you come up with that one?'

Harry seemed to deflate. 'Spent my lunch hour browsing in a Muggle bookshop to let off steam. Saw it in a book.' He leaned his elbows on the scarred table. 'I mean it, though,' he added quietly. 'You can't keep doing that.'

Ron exhaled forcefully through his nose. 'I just don't want Ginny to get hurt.' He glanced at Harry slyly. 'You'd do the same for Hermione.'

'Might,' Harry agreed. 'Although right now, I question her taste in blokes…' He took a deep breath. 'But I also have faith in her ability to take care of herself from unwanted advances and that she'd know how to keep it a party of two and not make it a party of three.' He speared Ron with the kind of look he usually gave one of the other Aurors who had just made an idiotic, insinuating comment. 'You ought to give Gin the same consideration.'

A line appeared between Ron's eyebrows. 'Fine.' He gestured to the curtained door. 'Can I go back to my livelihood now?' he asked stiffly.

Harry pushed himself off the table. 'Ron…'

'It's fine,' Ron said, disappearing through the magenta curtain in a swirl of robes.

* * *

'He was out of line!' Ron seethed, pacing around the Grangers' brightly-lit kitchen, while Hermione filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove. Hermione rummaged blindly in a cupboard over her head for the small tin of tea leaves, making noncommittal noises while Ron vented. 'Can you believe he called me a hypocrite?'

Hermione turned to face him, the tin clutched between her hands. 'Yes. Because I called you one the other day myself.'

'That's different,' Ron argued.

Hermione's cheeks went pink with suppressed laughter. 'Oh? Edify me, then. How, Ronald, is it so _different_?'

'Well, it… it…' Ron spluttered. 'It just is!' he finally huffed.

Hermione set the tin on the counter and gave in to the peals of laughter she had been trying to restrain. 'Oh, Ron…' she gasped. 'That is utterly, and totally ridiculous!' Her whoops of laughter echoed off the walls and tears streamed down her face. 'I've been trying to tell you since Christmas… It is rather hypocritical of you to be so vigilant about keeping Harry and Ginny from being alone for any significant period of time, when you and I have been having sex for months now.' She spooned tea leaves into the Grangers' old brown teapot. 'Well, when I haven't been in school,' she amended. 'And we rather make up for lost time, when I am home.' She leaned against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. 'Don't you think they would have done something by now if they were going to? It's not as if they haven't had ample opportunity.' The tea kettle whistled shrilly, and Hermione removed it from the stove and poured the water over the waiting tea leaves. 'Ginny and I discussed that particular situation when we were unpacking some of Harry's things with Luna.' Her expression grew pensive as she recalled the surprisingly mature insights from the misty-voiced Ravenclaw. _There must be something in that head of hers after all_ , Hermione mused. _Otherwise, she wouldn't be in Ravenclaw at all…_ 'I think you can comfort yourself with the idea that she's not going to leap into something with both feet.' Hermione deftly poured tea into two waiting cups, then added milk to one and handed it to Ron. 'Now, drink your tea, and stop bellowing like a wounded boarhound.'

Ron accepted the cup with a narrow-eyed glare at the pert girl in front of him. 'I hate it when you use logic like that.'

Hermione rose on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. 'You love me,' she corrected.

'Yes, I do…' Ron tilted her chin up with a finger and kissed her softly. 'Ginny's always had some sort of starry-eyed, fairy-tale image of what it would be like to be with Harry,' he admitted.

Hermione sipped her own tea and shook her head. 'Honestly, Ron… After everything she – _they_ – have been through, Ginny does not maintain anything of the sort. Before the last few years, perhaps she did, but I doubt she's clinging to the delusions of a child now.' She wrapped an arm around his waist. 'She's grown up, Ron.'

'She's my baby sister,' he said peevishly.

'She'll be ninety, with scores of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and Ginny will still be your baby sister,' Hermione said gently. 'Let them be and live their own lives…'

Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. 'Fine,' he muttered reluctantly. 'But that doesn't mean I have to like it.'

'No one said you had to…' Hermione sighed.

* * *

Percy carefully tucked his shirt into his trousers before pulling the jumper over his head, leaving behind a mass of disordered curls. He grimaced at the image in the small mirror over his bureau and ran his hands over his hair, attempting to restore a semblance of order. The curls were a reason he'd always kept his hair cropped quite short. He hated the chaos they inflicted on his personal image. But haircuts had been few and far between over the course of the past year, and he had often worked far into the night, only making time to control the riotous curls when they fell into his eyes. He glanced at Penelope, slipping shoes onto her feet. Her hair had been twisted into a loose plait and tucked and pinned into a tasteful dishevelment on the back of her head. _How in Merlin's name does she get it to do that?_ He shook his head, making the curls bounce cheerfully. 'Ready?'

'As ready as I'm going to be,' Penny replied with a slightly nervous smile. 'Who's going to there today?'

Percy shoved his feet into his painfully clean trainers, chewing his lip in consideration. 'Well, Mum and Dad, of course. Probably George, if he's not avoiding everyone. Ron. Ginny. Harry. And I think Hermione, because she and Ginny are taking the Knight Bus back to Hogsmeade after lunch.' Percy shrugged with one shoulder. 'Bill and Fleur might be there, and if they are, be prepared for every male in the room to go slightly barmy for a moment. Charlie might come, if he's not working.'

'So a full house, then?'

Percy exhaled explosively. 'Yeah.'

'You look nervous,' Penny observed.

'I am…' Percy ran a hand through his hair. 'The last time one of us brought someone home, Mum nearly had a fit. And that was when Bill brought Fleur to the Burrow to meet Mum and Dad the year before they got married.' He coughed lightly to clear the sudden thickening in his throat. 'Or so I'm told…'

Penny remembered seeing the ethereal Frenchwoman here and there in Diagon Alley a few years ago, and a time or two in Gringotts. She had been in the battle at Hogwarts and at the subsequent memorial and funerals for Fred, Remus, and Tonks with the rest of the Weasleys. Fleur was more than merely beautiful – she was stunning beyond words. It didn't take much imagination for Penny to understand why Molly had reacted with initial disdain and distrust for Bill's choice of bride. She probably would have done the same. 'Situations change,' she pointed out. 'We're not announcing an engagement. We're just spending a casual Sunday afternoon with your family,' she said. Percy didn't look convinced. Penny wound her arms around Percy's neck. 'We've got some time,' she whispered.

'We do,' Percy demurred, hands working at the hem of her jumper.

'Perhaps I might be able to offer something in the way of distraction?' Penny suggested.

Percy deliberately removed his glasses and set them just so on top of the bureau. 'It's always the quiet ones,' he murmured approvingly.

'Just because I don't flaunt my sexuality like that Parkinson girl doesn't mean I can't do this…' Penny chuckled throatily as her wandering hands made Percy's eyes shut tightly.

'Thank God for that,' Percy breathed hoarsely.

* * *

As soon as he had scraped the last of his spotted dick from the plate with his spoon, George escaped the kitchen and fled to the relative sanctuary offered by the back garden, squeezing Katie's hand apologetically before he blundered through the door. George hoisted himself onto the stone wall, lifting his face to the weak sunshine that poked cautious fingers through the low layer of grey clouds. He was intensely aware that he only had just under a month before he would be assaulted anew by a deluge of loss once more. Even so, he was astounded that almost a year had passed and the changes it had wrought. _Especially the one that just ambled into the garden_ , George said to himself. Percy held the gate open for a woman George vaguely recognized from Hogwarts, and clasped her hand in his as she came through it. This wasn't a Percy George knew from living memory. The back of Percy shirttail peeped from under his jumper, the collar of the shirt was askew, and even his hair was more tumbled that it had been lately. George didn't know whether to laugh aloud or to be impressed at the power the woman – _Penelope… Penelope Clearwater_ – George recalled, eyes widening, held over Percival Ignatius Weasley. Deciding to forgo the outright humor, and veer into the impressed territory, George slid off the wall and intercepted Percy and Penny. 'Bit late for lunch, aren't you?' he called, with a swift glance upward. _This has to be Fred's birthday gift to me…_ he thought gleefully.

Percy tugged at his collar. 'Erm… a bit…'

George grinned with a shadow of his former impishness and turned to Penny. 'I'm George,' he said, offering a hand.

'I remember,' Penny said in amusement. She tried to unobtrusively peek at George's hand for hidden tricks or pranks. It didn't go unnoticed by George. He held his palm out to her and pushed back the sleeve of his shirt.

'You're safe,' he told her, holding out his hand once more. This time, Penny shook it firmly.

'Penelope Clearwater,' she said.

'I remember,' George said in a conscious echo of her greeting.

'You can call me Penny,' she added.

'You can call me George.' His eyes glistened briefly, but he blinked back the tears. 'Or Forge if I'm being particularly obstinate.' _Thank you, Fred!_ George couldn't have asked for a better gift than Percy's discomfiture over not only being late, but of what George could only surmise had been the activity that had made them late, if he were to judge by the shadowed bite on Percy's neck, just under his ear. _They must have not noticed that one…_ George bit his lip to maintain his neutral expression. He'd seen such marks with such alarming frequency on Ron or Hermione last summer as to not know what they signified. 'Mum was wondering what was keeping you,' George said to Percy, eyeing Penny. 'Can't say I blame you…'

'George!' Percy hissed, finally goaded into speech.

'Unless you want Mum to realize what kept you,' George began, fingering his own neck below where his right ear used to be, 'you might want to do something about that… Seems to be a Weasley trait… Red hair, freckles, post-coital bite marks,' he reflected. 'That makes three of us, so far…'

Percy scrabbled for his wand, but Penny coolly took hers from a pocket and pointed it at him. A few whispered words and the mark faded. 'There,' she soothed. 'Although you might want to tuck in your shirt in the back.' She reached for the collar, straightening and smoothing it into something more resembling the Percy George knew.

'Thanks,' Percy muttered, not ungratefully. 'My birthday gift to you,' he said to George, as he approached the back door of the Burrow. 'Enjoy…' he added, as they stepped into the kitchen to a sudden silence in the buzz of conversation.

George sighed happily. Not that he enjoyed seeing Percy humiliated like that, but it had been rather enjoyable to take the mickey out of his older brother again. Just like old times.

* * *

Harry stood in the lane, hands jammed into his pockets, as he watched the large, purple, triple-decker bus lumber away a few feet before it lurched away with a loud _bang_ that ricocheted around the valley for a moment. He glanced at Ron standing next to him, in the same pose, then began to walk in the opposite direction the Knight Bus had taken. Ron immediately followed. 'Ginny and I don't feel as if we must do everything you and Hermione do,' he said casually.

'Brilliant,' Ron mumbled to his shoes.

'Although,' Harry said thoughtfully, 'I'd rather not die a virgin.'

Ron glared at him, speechless with shock, eyes bulging.

Harry grinned. 'But since nobody's been actively trying to kill me for the past year, I suppose I can wait a while longer, eh?' He walked for several minutes in companionable silence. 'Look, Ron… Gin and I are perfectly happy where _we_ are in _our_ relationship,' he said firmly. 'You and Hermione… You've been all but betrothed since the day we went after Aragog. I'm not saying it was inevitable, but the two of you were best friends for ages.' He exhaled slowly. 'Ginny and I need the time to be friends before we're lovers, all right?' He stole a look at Ron, walking stoically next to him. 'All right?' he repeated.

'All right…'


	53. Unravel What We Weave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's mouth dropped open in outrage. Kingsley, however, shook his head slightly in wordless warning, and then continued, 'I also realize that it will be difficult for you to take your place, as it were, in the history of the wizarding world. You wish to be left alone, as if it had never happened. But it did. That, Harry, is something you have to accept. Not this year, or the next. But some point in your life. I am also aware that you do not want any sort of unwelcome attention, while you are trying to live what passes as a normal life.' Kingsley released Harry's elbow. 'I cannot promise that I can shield you from such attentions, but I will try to deflect it as much as I can.' Kingsley ran a hand over his bald head. 'I do recall the treatment you received at the hands of the Prophet after the Triwizard. And how both Scrimgeour and Fudge tried to use you. That is not my intention.'
> 
> Harry jaw worked for several moments. 'My answer's still no.'

Loud ringing penetrated through the curtains around Ginny's bed. She groaned into her pillow and slowly extended a hand through the gap and patted blindly for the ringing alarm clock. Her questing fingers found the switch and turned off the annoying racket. Every muscle ached from the extra training she was doing in her relatively non-existent free time for her upcoming trial with Holyhead. Ginny was determined not to make Gwenog believe her faith was misplaced by offering Ginny a spot on the team. On top of that, N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching in two months, and most of her classes had already begun to review the past seven years. Hermione already had a revision schedule that was color-coordinated according to the class and how much time she felt she needed to study. Ginny hadn't quite gone that far, although she seemed to have forgotten more Transfiguration than ought to be allowed. She stiffly pushed herself into a sitting position, and rolled her shoulders attempting to work some fluidity into the muscles, the slowly swung her feet to the floor and shuffled into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would prod her into alertness.

Ablutions completed, dressed, and damp hair bundled into loose knot on the back of her head, Ginny felt like she might be able to face the rest of her day. 'You are up entirely too early,' Hermione rasped from the recesses of her bed. 'What time is it, anyway?'

'Five-thirty,' Ginny whispered.

Demelza's head emerged from under her pillow. 'Have you lost your mind?' she croaked.

'I don't believe so,' Ginny told her, packing her bag for the day.

'Where are you intending to go, exactly?' Hermione inquired. 'Can't leave the common room until seven…'

'I've got my essay to finish for Flitwick. Still four inches too short.'

'Want some help?' Hermione struggled to untangle herself from the bedding. 'Just give me a minute to dress…'

'Go back to sleep, Hermione,' Ginny said.

'Are you sure?' Hermione yawned.

'Yes…' Ginny swung her bag to her shoulder with a muffled grunt as the movement sent her muscles screaming in protest.

'Okay…' Hermione fell back into the pillow, and pulled the quilt over her shoulders, as she turned on her side.

Ginny pulled open the door, only to be stopped by Demelza. 'You don't have to kill yourself, you know…'

'I'm not killing myself,' Ginny objected.

Demelza ruffled her dark hair and eyed Ginny skeptically. 'How long do you fly drills after the regular team practice, eh?'

'An hour,' Ginny said evasively.

'Try two or three,' Demelza snorted. 'I get it, the desire to prove yourself, but you're going to wear yourself out or get injured trying to keep up this pace, Ginny.'

'I'm fine.'

'You can take a night or two off, then.' Demelza stretched elaborately. 'Won't hurt.'

'I know…' Ginny slipped through the door and wound her way down the spiraling staircase to the empty common room. It had been tidied and cleaned, the fire tended to, and the pillows scattered around the sofas and chair fluffed. It made her wonder just when the school elves slept, if at all. Even though she knew the school elves were treated with respect and kindness by the school staff, it still made Ginny cringe a little with guilt that things she was perfectly capable of doing were performed by an elf.

She found one of the larger armchairs by the fire and settled into it, stuffing a small pillow under the small of her back. Ginny opened her bag and with a quick glance around the room, pulled out the copy of Rita Skeeter's biography of Harry.

She opened the book to the section marked with a strip of parchment, inwardly marveling that someone such as Harry, with a mere eighteen years on this earth, could be the subject of such a weighty tome. The book was thick and heavy, and Ginny knew it would be more useful as a doorstop than anything else. She had been carefully reading the book, marking the inconsistencies and lies. As she advanced toward the final chapters – especially the ones that contained conjecture of the previous year, she tried to convince herself she really was looking for the places where Skeeter had crossed the line into libel. 'This is stupid,' she muttered, fully cognizant of the fact it was nothing more than half-truths and conjecture to the point of bordering on outright lies and fabrication. 'There are people in the Ministry who could do this…' Ginny rubbed her gritty eyes, feeling like she was intruding in places she oughtn't. She truly didn't have the time to do this, but Harry's admittedly virulent reaction to the advance copy had roused her curiosity to the point where she had slipped back up to the attic and stowed it into her bag before she and Hermione left the Burrow at the end of the Easter holiday. Every since they had returned, Ginny had either stayed up far into the night, or awakened hours before Demelza or Hermione, just so she could read the book, and add to her growing list of misstatements about Harry and his life.

It had almost been common knowledge amongst outsiders that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been at Grimmauld Place after the Ministry fell to Voldemort. Rumors and stories of Death Eaters all but camped out on the pavement waiting for them to come out flew fast and furious until the day they did leave. It wasn't new information to Ginny. Lupin had confided to Arthur in early August where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were and that they were safe for the moment. Arthur, in turn, had informed Molly when they thought Ginny was asleep. Then, there was the mysterious incident in the Ministry a month later when several captive witches and wizards were suddenly told to leave. It was one of those things they had only learned at Hogwarts weeks after it happened, because the _Prophet_ didn't print it. But students heard through coded letters from home or furiously whispered conversations over potting trays in the greenhouses.

From what Ginny could tell, the speculations about the events of that day were closer to the truth than anyone cared to admit. Ministry employees discovered in an alley, robes gone, covered in blood, Stunned…

And that was the last anyone had even the slightest whisper of Harry, Ron, or Hermione until they showed up at Shell Cottage, battered and bruised – emotionally and physically.

Or so Ginny thought, as she skimmed the page, knowing she only had roughly an hour before other students began to find their way down to the common room to finish homework or seek an early breakfast.

_While many people believed that the so-called Golden Trio was virtually inseparable, sources say Ron Weasley was seen multiple times walking the beach well outside the village of Tinworth in Cornwall in between mid-November and Christmas of 1997. Neither Harry Potter, nor Hermione Granger was seen with him. So one can only surmise a rift developed between the three of them, causing Mr. Weasley to decamp and desert his two supposed closest and dearest friends._

_Mr. Weasley was then seen once again in the company of Mr. Potter and Miss Granger sometime in March of 1998, when they were captured by a group of Death Eaters and Voldemort's supporters known as "Snatchers", and taken to the Malfoy mansion._

_Much has been speculated about exact nature of the relationship between the Trio. Are they mere friends or some sort of twisted love triangle, with Miss Granger toying alternately with the affections of first Mr. Weasley, with whom she was seen holding hands at Dumbledore's funeral, as well as dancing with him at his eldest brother's wedding last August, and then Mr. Potter, with whom Miss Granger has a close relationship?_

_As far back as 1995, during the Triwizard tournament, Miss Granger was believed to have trifled with the affections of both Mr. Potter, and the international Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, the Champion from Durmstrang. It is this author's belief that a disagreement arose between Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley over Miss Granger._

_A few of the surviving Death Eaters reported during their trials that Miss Granger and Mr. Potter were seen in each other's company in Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve of 1997, sharing several rather intimate moments, including visiting Mr. Potter's parents' graves together, before going to see the ruins of Potter house_

_So the question remains: just what were Mr. Potter and Miss Granger doing from November to March?_

'You evil cow,' Ginny breathed, wishing Skeeter was in the common room. She would have hexed the woman into next week. She replaced the parchment and closed the book with a trembling hand, then gingerly picked it up and shoved it into her bag so hard, a seam ripped. She closed her eyes, head shaking slowly back and forth. She trusted Harry implicitly. His feelings for Hermione were well known to be strictly platonic, although there had been some talk Ginny's fifth year of school. It was also a juicy piece of Hogwarts gossip when Ron had been inadvertently poisoned that it had been Hermione he asked for, and not Lavender Brown.

Ginny stared into the low flames, her eyes watering. Taking in a deep breath, she dug in her bag for her Charms essay and textbook, fingers jerking back from Skeeter's book as if it burned her.

* * *

George opened his eyes, confronted with Katie's empty pillow and the sounds of retching coming from the small bathroom. 'Katie…?' he called. Her only response was choked gagging and the toilet flushing. George heard her rinsing her mouth before she materialized in the bedroom door, looking tousled and pale, sniffling as she stumbled into the rumpled bed. George sat up, trying to straighten the bedding, so he could tuck it around Katie, as she curled into a tight ball. She wore an ancient pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an equally ancient t-shirt of his that bore a faded Puddlemere United crest. He stroked her hair from her face. 'You look awful,' he commented.

'Thanks,' Katie said wearily. 'Every girl dreams of being told that.'

George peered down at her, running his hand through his tumbled hair. 'D'you want anything? Wet face cloth, perhaps? Some tea and dry toast?'

'I'm all right,' Katie insisted weakly. 'Just feel a bit under the weather, yeah?' She swallowed heavily. 'Just like I'm going to be sick all the time.'

'For how long?'

'Couple of days…'

George felt the blood freeze in his veins, but he forced himself to climb out of bed and fetch face cloth, soaking it in cold water. 'Oh?' he asked, his voice sounding unnaturally high. 'When…?'

'Woke up yesterday like this,' Katie groaned, heartily wishing George would stop asking her questions, so she could go back to sleep.

'I…I…I see…' George stammered. He folded the face cloth and draped it over Katie's forehead. 'Would you like me to stay home today?'

Katie shook her head, lips clamping together as the motion induced a wave of nausea. 'No, you go on and open the shop. I'm not going to be very good company…' she said tightly.

George began to finger-comb her tangled hair. 'I'll stay…' he said quietly, remembering the times she's sat with him through his emotional turmoil. He moved to the other side of the bed, and tried to get back into it, without jarring Katie too much. Katie wriggled until her head rested on his chest, one arm flung across his stomach. George resumed mindlessly threading his fingers through Katie's hair. He gazed sightlessly at the wall, mind spinning, his thoughts tumbling around each other. He couldn't recall using anything that first night with Katie, but he vividly remembered cornering Ron in his bedroom, demanding a crash course in whatever methods he employed with Hermione. George had been quite diligent ever since, but like all of his brothers, he was exceedingly cognizant of the reality that it only took once. He could even hear Arthur's admonitions to both him and Fred at Grimmauld Place when it became painfully obvious their attentions toward Tonks had little to do with her work as an Auror, or her Metamorphmagus abilities. He could still see the image of Arthur, herding him and Fred into the bedroom they shared, going on for what seemed like ages about love, that the time would be right for them much, much later, they ought to wait for the right girl, preferably when they were older. George didn't remember much from all that horribly embarrassing chatter, except for the last thing Arthur had told them. _Think with your heads, boys, and not your willies_ , he'd said bluntly. George could wholeheartedly agree that he'd quite left his head out of the equation that night with Katie.

_It would change things an awful lot_ , he mused. _Babies change everything. And we just started dating… We'd have to grow up, too. Not that we aren't, but a baby… We'd have to find somewhere else to live. Somewhere bigger… Get married… Although I'm not sure if she'd even want to marry me… I don't even know if I can handle being responsible for someone else right now, when I can't even get out of bed on my birthday… But I'd have to… I'd never just leave her alone. Besides, Mum and Dad would demand I help take care of it… Being a dad isn't so bad. I mean, Dad's really good at it. If I just do what he would do, I might be able to do it._

'I can hear you…' Katie murmured.

'Hah?' George looked down at her. Her eyes were tightly shut against the slowly brightening room. 'I didn't say anything.'

Katie cracked open an eyelid. 'I'm not pregnant,' she said firmly.

'Oh?' George said with forced casualness. 'How did you know that was on my mind…?'

Katie chuckled briefly, and patted George on his stomach. 'You're an open book, love. And you keep talking about babies under your breath. I'm just nauseated, not hearing impaired.'

'Oh, well… I…' George spluttered.

Katie lifted her head, pushing her hair aside. 'My mother's a midwife, git,' she said mildly. 'And you've met her. There's no way she'd send me out into the world unprepared. And she's absolutely fanatical about people becoming parents because they've planned to become parents. I promised you I had it under control, and I do.'

George's brow furrowed in bemusement. 'How…?'

Katie rummaged in her night table drawer and handed a small, flat, circular device to him. 'It's reliable.'

George poked cautiously at the bright pink cover with an index finger. 'How does it work…?'

Katie thumbed the lid open. 'It's like a potion, but much, much more dependable and doesn't taste like something foul you'd lick off the sole of someone's shoe. Take one every day.' She snapped it shut and dropped it on top the table, snuggling back into George. 'I'm just not feeling well… I promise. Just the flu or something… I'll be all right in a couple of days.' She let her head fall back to George's shoulder. 'You really ought to go in. Ron will have some sort of panic attack if you don't…' she warned.

George glanced at the clock next to the bed and wrapped an arm around Katie. 'I've got a couple of hours,' he told her. He bent his head and brushed a kiss over the top of her head. 'I've got you pegged, you know.'

'You do…?'

'Mmm-hmmm. Fake an illness. Shameless ploy for attention…' George clucked admonishingly. He sobered and gently rubbed the back of her neck. 'You're too good for me, Katie,' he breathed, waiting for her protest, but none was forthcoming. He tilted his head to look at her. Katie had fallen sleep, her mouth half-open, hair tangled, nose reddened, dark smudges under her eyes. George felt a surge of something he might at one time have called love. There was no doubt in his mind that he did, in fact, love Katie with all his heart and soul. But he wondered if he would ever be able to give her the kind of relationship he would have wanted – the same kind both of their parents had.

Because usually, George couldn't imagine for a second that it would be very fair to someone like Katie to saddle her with all his emotional baggage. And despite the depth of his feelings for her, he often wondered if it would be best for them both to go their separate ways. He didn't think Katie would be content to sort of drift along with the currents and see what happened, which was how he seemed to live his life lately.

But right now… Right now, he chose to live in this moment and try to convince himself it could happen. _Whatever gets me through the day…_

* * *

Harry filed the weekly report from the Aurors regarding Draco Malfoy's activities in Draco's file, after making copies to submit to his Head and the Minister. Draco hadn't once emerged from the mansion in the past month. Harry felt more than a passing twinge of pity for him each time he read the reports concerning Draco. Nobody had come to visit him, nor had anyone even applied to pay him a visit. It only reinforced what Harry had come to suspect ages ago – Draco was a profoundly lonely person. One couldn't really count either Crabbe or Goyle as _friends_. They were more like underlings. Harry couldn't imagine Draco divulging his innermost thoughts to neither Crabbe, nor Goyle, in the way he did Ron, Hermione, or Ginny. Harry silently began to calculate the odds of Draco dying a lonely, bitter old man. It wasn't a foregone conclusion, but Harry didn't see Draco's life improving in the near future. 'Worse than a sentence in Azkaban,' he muttered, sticking the report in Draco's file with a Sticking charm and tossing the folder into a drawer of his desk.

'The Minister wants to see you,' Gibson said from the entrance to his cubicle.

Harry frowned. 'Why?'

'I don't know, do I?' Gibson snapped. 'He just said he needs to have a quick word with you.'

Harry mentally reviewed the past several days. 'Have I done something wrong…? Well, lately,' he amended.

Gibson's lips pursed and she glared at Harry sourly. 'Not that I'm aware.' She held out a hand. 'Malfoy's report?' Harry handed her the sheet of parchment with a sigh. 'After you're done with the Minister, Carmichael's waiting for you in the training room.'

'Whatever for?' Harry bit back the impatience so hard his teeth clacked together.

'Legilimency practice.'

Harry swore softly, aware Molly would have Scourgified his mouth had she been there to hear him. Of all the Aurors to help him practice, Carmichael was not one he wanted near his mind. Harry was afraid in the state he was in, he'd let something of his own leak through and cause all sorts havoc in his work life. 'Fine.'

'Need to make sure you're ready for July,' Gibson reminded him. She looked down at the toes of her shoes. 'We're using Carmichael because of your rather – _antagonistic –_ relationship here. It's my understanding you and the younger Malfoy were quite hostile to one another as well. This is the closest thing we can approximate. It's for your own good. And also for the Ministry.'

'And if you knew the procedures outlined for Draco Malfoy, you'd know he doesn't get Legilimency. He's a bloody Occlumens. Instead, he gets Veritaserum.' Harry's lips twitched, waiting for the barrage of irate verbiage Gibson was sure to unleash on his head, but she stared at him, open-mouthed, speechless. Harry edged out of the entrance of his cubicle. 'Pardon me,' he murmured to Gibson, who was quite blocking his way. 'The Minister's waiting…'

Gibson remained where she was. 'This is why I didn't want you on here,' she said. 'You're too young and too much of a liability to the cohesion of the department. No respect for protocol or procedure.'

'I figured,' Harry snorted. 'If you'll excuse me…?' He turned and strode purposefully toward the lift. Harry punched the button repeatedly, his teeth set firmly in his bottom lip, seething. Gibson's behavior was one reason he'd had misgivings about skipping the training program. Most Aurors had thankfully followed his supervisor's lead. Peter had gradually increased Harry's workload until he handled nearly as much as a third-year trainee. By this time next year, he would take on the full responsibilities of an Auror. Peter also didn't refer to Harry's age, nor did he treat Harry any differently than any other Auror on the team. In spite of this, there were still a few who saw him as nothing more than an upstart child. It seemed nothing he ever did was good enough.

The lift finally arrived and Harry shouldered his way through a throng of people already inside. He wedged himself into a corner, keeping his eyes fixed on one of the light purple paper aeroplanes that hovered above their heads. The lift glided to a stop and Harry hung back, waiting for the other occupants to disembark before he trailed after them, dawdling. He waited for the corridors to clear somewhat before he made his way to the double doors that led to the Minister's office.

Percy was busily engaged in a conversation that involved much gesticulating with someone Harry didn't recognize in the minuscule grate in the corner. Percy glanced over his shoulder and mouthed, 'Go ahead and go in. He's waiting.'

Harry cautiously poked his head into the partially-open door of Shacklebolt's office. 'You wanted to see me?'

'Have a seat.' Shacklebolt waved to one of the squashy chairs in front of his desk. 'They're dedicating the fountain in the Atrium in a couple of weeks,' he began, intentionally leaving the date vague.

Harry nodded, throat tightening. He had anonymously sent enough gold to rebuild the fountain, with a stipulation that it be constructed as a memorial to those who lost their lives in the war and that it not perpetuate the myth of the Fountain Magical Brethren that had been destroyed. Only Shacklebolt knew him to be the benefactor. 'Brilliant,' he said diffidently.

Shacklebolt folded his hands on the polished surface of his desk. 'On May the second,' he added with a slight cough. 'As part of the memorial.'

'Oh.'

Shacklebolt had the temerity to look uncomfortable. 'I was wondering if you wouldn't mind at least making an appearance.' He rubbed at a non-existent speck on the desk. 'You wouldn't have to say anything. No speeches…'

'No.'

'Harry, I know this is uncomfortable for you, but it would be… Since you're the he – Well, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here…'

'No,' Harry repeated flatly. 'I want no part of any memorial, public or otherwise.' He got jerkily to his feet. 'And I can't believe you'd even consider asking me to do that! Especially after everything you know about me, and we've been through. It's like the last four years never happened.' He stormed from the office, ignoring Percy's attempts to flag him down and marched to the lifts, wishing there was a convenient staircase he could use.

He felt a hand grasp his elbow. Kingsley stood next to him, impassive. 'Let's have a bit of stroll, shall we?' he rumbled, his tone brooking no argument. Kingsley began to propel Harry down the corridor. Harry attempted to unobtrusively tug his arm from the Minister's iron grip, but Kingsley merely tightened his grip. He steered the younger man into one of the more remote conference rooms and swung his wand around in an expansive arc. All ambient sounds abruptly ceased. 'You want people in your department to cease treating you as a sullen teenager, then I suggest you cease behaving as one when things do not unfold in the manner you believe they ought.'

Harry's mouth dropped open in outrage. Kingsley, however, shook his head slightly in wordless warning, and then continued, 'I also realize that it will be difficult for you to take your place, as it were, in the history of the wizarding world. You wish to be left alone, as if it had never happened. But it did. That, Harry, is something you have to accept. Not this year, or the next. But some point in your life. I am also aware that you do not want any sort of unwelcome attention, while you are trying to live what passes as a normal life.' Kingsley released Harry's elbow. 'I cannot promise that I can shield you from such attentions, but I will try to deflect it as much as I can.' Kingsley ran a hand over his bald head. 'I do recall the treatment you received at the hands of the _Prophet_ after the Triwizard. And how both Scrimgeour and Fudge tried to use you. That is not my intention.'

Harry jaw worked for several moments. 'My answer's still no.'

'Very well.'

Harry spun on his heel and tried the door. It was locked. 'The door?' he asked neutrally, inclining his head toward it. Kingsley casually flicked his wand at it and it opened a little. Harry opened the door wider and slipped through the opening, almost fleeing to the relative sanctuary of Level Two.

* * *

Hermione looked up from the book she had floating at eye level. Ginny was absently moving her food around her plate, staring at her. 'Have I ink on my nose?' she inquired.

'Huh?' Ginny started, her fork scraping discordantly across the plate.

'You're staring,' Hermione said pointedly.

Ginny shook her head and looked down. She had loaded her plate with baked courgette, and she hated courgette. 'Just thinking…' She pushed the plate away and swung her feet over the bench. 'I've got drills to practice,' she mumbled, grabbing her back and nearly sprinting out of the Great Hall.

Hermione frowned at Ginny's abandoned plate. She hadn't eaten a single bite. Ginny was capable of putting away quite a bit of food at meals, especially when she was playing Quidditch. Ever since they'd come back to school, she'd bolted as little as she could eat without raising concerns and left the table to either study, do homework, or train. While Hermione knew Ginny took her N.E.W.T.s seriously, she also knew that Ginny wasn't fussed about earning top marks on them, either. Ginny couldn't have been _that_ diligent about her studies.

She plucked the book from its place and stuffed it into her already-straining bag and followed Ginny to the Quidditch pitch.

When Ginny emerged from the changing room, dressed in a pair of what could have only been a pair of Charlie's or one of the twins' discarded jeans and an Hogwarts sweatshirt of an indeterminate vintage, and might have belonged to Bill his first year. 'I thought you didn't care for Quidditch,' Ginny scoffed, not unkindly.

'I don't. Not like Ron does…' Hermione settled into the chair she'd conjured and stretched her feet out in front of her. 'Something's eating at you,' she stated.

'What gives you that silly idea?' Ginny dropped to the grass and began strapping on the shin guards under the legs of the baggy jeans. The late afternoon sun slanted through the stands, highlighting her cheekbones, throwing the hollows of her face into sharp relief.

'You've lost weight,' Hermione clucked disapprovingly.

'Just a bit from the training,' Ginny shot back defensively.

'Have you watched yourself hitch your skirt up while you're walking to your next class?' Hermione snorted derisively. She lifted her face to the sunshine and let the breeze play over her hair for a few minutes. 'What is you keep reading when you're alone? I've seen you when I've come down to the common room early. Last week, you all but jumped out of your skin when you saw me and crammed a book into your bag.'

Ginny toyed with the leather strap of the arm guard dangling from one hand. She heaved a sigh and got to her feet, disappearing into the changing room for a moment, returning shortly with a large book that wordlessly she dropped into Hermione's lap.

Hermione turned the book around curiously. ' _The Chosen One? A Biography of Harry Potter_ by Rita Skeeter,' she murmured. 'Interesting…' She skimmed through a few pages, laughing outright at a few paragraphs. 'Honestly, Ginny, it's Rita Skeeter. You know what kind of lies she's capable of printing. She takes bits and pieces of someone's life and twists it to fit her own agenda'

'Yes, I know,' Ginny muttered. She retrieved the arm guard and wound the strap around her hand, then unraveled it. 'Is it true?' she said in a low voice.

'Is what true?'

In lieu of a reply, Ginny reached over and flipped the pages over to the spot she'd marked earlier, then folded herself to the grass, looking up at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione's eyes traveled rapidly back and forth, her face growing paler. A muscle in Ginny's jaw jumped. 'How long was Ron gone?'

Hermione's mouth was dry. 'I don't know…'

Ginny let out a bark of laughter. 'You don't know?' she scoffed. 'That's rich. You know everything.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I really don't. It was all such a blur. One day just bled into another.'

Ginny inhaled deeply through her nose. 'I see…' She began to rip up handfuls of grass. 'Ron had a nightmare last summer,' she blurted. 'I only know because Harry happened to be awake, or I'd never have heard Ron thrashing about in his sleep, because Harry would have been in the throes of one. I was in my room, and heard Harry go up to the attic. When he didn't come back down for a while, I snuck up to the landing outside Ron's room. And I heard Ron mention something about leaving…' Ginny grimaced, slightly abashed at having confessed to eavesdropping. 'Then, they started talking about how I slapped Harry earlier that afternoon, so I decided it was a good time to go back to my room…'

'I wondered how you knew about it,' Hermione muttered. As far as she knew none of them had ever told anyone exactly what had happened.

Ginny looked up at Hermione. 'I assumed he'd just left for a day or two at the time.'

Hermione slid to the grass, tucking her skirt around her knees. 'I'll tell you as much as I can, but I need you to promise not to be a Weasley for half an hour.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ginny asked sharply.

'I just mean that you can't get into a strop five words into what I'm going to say.'

'I'm not that bad,' Ginny protested.

Hermione just made a noncommittal sort of grunt, and gazed at the goalposts on one end of the pitch. 'It all started when we managed to find one of the Horcruxes,' she said dully. 'Remember the locket we found in Grimmauld Place?'

'Yeah… Sort of.'

'After Sirius died, Mundungus Fletcher went into the house and pinched everything he could put his hands on, including that locket. At any rate, we tracked it down with the help of Kreacher. Fletcher had sold it to Umbitch, and she claimed to be a descendant of some pureblood family called Selwyn.'

'And she's not,' Ginny guessed.

'No. We managed to take the locket from her and escape from the Ministry. But one of the Death Eaters – Yaxley, if I recall correctly – had a hand on my robes. He was with us when we landed on the steps of Grimmauld Place and because we were the Secret Keepers after Dumbledore died, I revealed the location to them…' Hermione admitted. 'So I panicked, and we Disapparated almost immediately.

'Since we had to keep moving, we took turns wearing the locket for safekeeping… We only took it off when it got to be too much.' Hermione trailed off, shivering with the memory of what it had felt like and the insidious whispers inside her mind. 'Do you remember what it was like when…' She gulped visibly. 'Voldemort,' she said tautly. 'Possessed you?'

'Yeah.' Ginny's voice cracked slightly. She remembered all too well the silky suggestions that she was nothing more than a whinging brat who would amount to nothing, was better off dead…

'The locket…' Hermione took a deep breath. 'Preyed on us. On our insecurities… And Ron…' She looked at Ginny, cheeks pink. 'I love him – I do… But he was so susceptible to what it told him, and he believed what it was telling him to the point where…' her fingers twisted together. 'He was Ron at his worst, and then some…' she said softly, almost sadly. 'He couldn't handle it anymore, and he left…'

'For how long?'

'I told you, I don't really know. I didn't know what day it was. It was sometime in November. Then he came back the day after Christmas. We – Harry and I – didn't really do very much. We sort of went through the motions, really. Wasn't the same without Ron…' Hermione's voice faded as the bright sunlight was replaced by the vision of bare, snow-laden trees. The sound of rain on the canvas tent. Ron's sneering voice accusing her of choosing Harry over him. She straightened suddenly and grasped Ginny's upper arm in one hand. 'You know nothing happened between Harry and me, don't you?'

Ginny seemed baffled by Hermione's unexpected revelation, but she nodded. 'Do you really think Harry would have been able to keep that from me?' she asked. 'I don't think his sense of honor would have allowed it…'

'I know there have been rumors,' Hermione said hoarsely. 'I can understand why people would think so, but it's never been more than friendship. There was the one time…' Mentally, she slapped herself. She'd never meant to mention that incident.

'What happened?’ Ginny asked, her voice threateningly low.

Hermione's eyes closed painfully. 'Christmas… It was nothing,' she insisted. 'Harry sent me to bed and he was going to keep the first watch. We were both discouraged and feeling rather low, and I just ran my hand over his hair when I went inside…'

'He likes that…' Ginny murmured.

'It wasn't even half a second,' Hermione said, as if Ginny hadn't spoken. 'But it could have been… more…' she choked. 'What if he'd followed me inside, or I'd stayed outside with him…?' She shook herself. 'It would have been a horrible, immensely regrettable mistake, Ginny. If anything had happened, it would have been out of loneliness, desperation… For all the wrong reasons.' Hermione waited, nearly holding her breath for Ginny to say something. She sat so still and silent, that Hermione drew back just a little, anticipating the inevitable explosion of temper from her.

The sun was beginning to set behind the stand when Ginny finally did something. Ginny stiffly unfolded herself and gathered her belongings, leaving the despised book where it lay crookedly in the dampening grass. She still hadn't said a word. Hermione couldn't stand the silence. 'Ginny?' she asked tentatively.

'I know the three of you don't like to talk about last year,' Ginny said quietly. 'But this was something you should have told me. The three of you… You have your secrets and your shared history, and block the rest of us out…'

'Ginny, it wasn't…' Hermione said desperately. 'It's not deliberate.'

'If you say so,' Ginny murmured, and walked up to the castle, leaving Hermione in the lengthening shadows.


	54. Setting Aside the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I was looking for you,' Peter told Harry, holding out a small piece of parchment. 'If you didn't have anywhere else to go, or well…' He coughed uncomfortably. 'My wife and I are having a few friends over for a bit of a private remembrance next Sunday. That's our address.' He pressed the parchment into Harry's damp palm. 'No worries if you don't come or want to be alone. But you shouldn't be alone. I can promise no one will expect you to make a speech in our back garden. You don't even have to speak to anyone if you don't want to.' Peter paused delicately. 'And if you want to drink yourself into oblivion with us, you can sleep it off in our spare bedroom.'
> 
> 'I…' Harry gazed at the neatly-lettered address in bewilderment. 'Thanks…' He ducked into his cubicle. He set the scrap of parchment in the center of the desk and studied it. It was a gift, freely offered with no demands on him at all. An unconditional momentary respite. Harry started to crumple the small square in his hand, but stopped, and shoved it into his pocket. Sunday was still more than a week away.

Ginny stormed into the castle, fuming. She stomped up the staircase, brushing past Professor Carter. 'Miss Weasley!' he called. Ginny ignored him. 'MISS WEASLEY!' he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

'Must you shout so?' complained a portrait.

Carter rolled his eyes. 'Do ya have to stick your nose into everyone's business all the damn time?' he retorted.

The witch in the portrait pursed her lips. 'It is rather boring to be a painting,' she pointed out. 'What else have I to do?'

Carter ran a hand through his hair. 'I swear, the ghosts aren't this nosy.' He darted after Ginny, who was now two flights above him. 'Miss Weasley, if you don't stop, I'm gonna give ya detention.'

Ginny came to a reluctant halt. 'What?' she ground out sullenly.

'Excuse me?' Carter's brow rose. 'Who are ya talkin' to, young lady?' he said softly, but his tone was a verbal rebuke more severe than mere yelling.

Ginny swallowed and took a deep breath. 'I'm sorry, sir,' she said stiffly.

'Argument?'

'Not precisely.'

'Hmm. Your display of temper wouldn't have anythin' to do with that book you've been luggin’ around, would it?' Carter leaned against the banister. 'The one about Harry.'

'No. It's not about the book itself.'

'But what's inside it?'

Ginny barked with sardonic laughter. 'Not even that.' She folded her arms over her chest. 'Do you have brothers or sisters, sir?'

'I'm the youngest of four. Two brothers and a sister.'

'They have their own circle and leave you out of it all the time?'

Carter shook his head. 'Not really… They were all a lot older than me. I was sorta a surprise to my parents,' he admitted ruefully.

'Then you won't understand.' Ginny shifted her bag on her shoulder. 'May I go now, sir?'

Carter cleared his throat. 'Um, Miss, Weasley… Take the night off. Unless you've got anything important due tomorrow?'

'No, but I've got N.E.W.T.s coming up,' Ginny protested.

'And I've seen ya work. You can afford to take one evening off and veg in that common room of yours. You're gonna burn out, Miss Weasley.'

'I guess…'

'Good night, Miss Weasley.' Carter pushed himself off the banister and clattered down the stairs.

Ginny sighed and trudged up to the Gryffindor tower, dodging the other students. She went to her dormitory and collected a clean nightdress, her dressing gown, and her slippers from her cupboard. Instead of using the seventh year girls' bathroom for a shower, she slipped down to the prefects' bathroom, her status as Quidditch captain, allowing her the right to use it. She leaned close to the statue of Boris the Bewildered and whispered, 'Scrubbing bubbles.' The door swung open. She exhaled slowly, relieved the room was vacant. The door would lock if someone was bathing in the tub, which was what Ginny intended to do.

She dropped her things next to the oversized bath and turned on the taps containing her favorite bubble bath, and undressed as the bath filled. When the taps shut off, Ginny lowered herself into the bath, hissing slightly between her teeth as her skin came in contact with the hot water. _Going to look like a boiled lobster when I'm out_ , she chuckled to herself, then leaned her head against the edge of the enormous marble tub, letting the rest of her body float weightlessly. She let the warmth soothe the aches in her muscles from the relentless Quidditch training. _Maybe everybody's right, and I am pushing myself too hard…_

Ginny's eyes drifted shut and she sank beneath the surface, swishing her hair around, then rising with a surge of foam-flecked water. She understood what Hermione meant about being with someone for all the wrong reasons, merely because it was comforting to have the touch of another human being. Isn't that what she'd done with Michael and Dean? She turned to Michael, mostly to take her mind off Harry. And Dean… Dean was the one about whom she felt the most guilty. As much as she tried to pretend it hadn't bothered her too much, the Battle of the Department of Mysteries had shaken her deeply. Hermione – the older sister she never had – had nearly died; she could still see the pinkish scars wending their way up Ron's arms from the brains; Neville had bled so much over his shirt from the broken nose, he'd had to throw it away; her own ankle had been broken savagely by a Death Eater, and even though Madam Pomfrey had fixed it in no time at all, occasionally it ached during cold, wet weather. Dean hadn't been there, and he wisely kept his questions to himself. He was kind and attentive and had been a relatively normal presence in her life. But the qualities that Ginny appreciated in Dean as a friend had been grating in boyfriend. She honestly believed she hadn't led him on, but knew that's what people said behind her back, after she'd thrown herself into Harry's arms after they won the Quidditch Cup.

In the end, Ginny knew without a doubt, even the remote – and not to mention unlikely – possibility of anything happening between Harry and Hermione didn't even register. When pressed to admit what she really wanted from the three of them was to recognize she had been through as much as they had, and without the tightly-knit support system they had amongst themselves. Possessed by Voldemort, an event of which she had to remind Harry that it had even happened. Fighting at the Ministry alongside the three of them, doing more than merely holding her own. Fighting at _both_ battles at Hogwarts. And even though she hadn't been on the run with them last year, she'd had her own share of troubles – made to let Slytherins torture her in detentions, living in daily terror something horrible was going to happen to her because she was seen as a blood-traitor, going into hiding when she went home for the Easter holiday. Ginny had been the one to come up with the idea of stealing Gryffindor's sword from the Headmaster's office, arranging clandestine meetings with Neville and Luna to organize the affair. So what if it wasn't as life-threatening as searching for bits of Voldemort's soul? It was that impression that irked Ginny more than anything else. That her experiences meant nothing, because they weren't in the same stratosphere as theirs. If anything, she hated feeling as if she had to jump up and down; waving her hands over her head to get the three of them to realize what she'd done was just as valid as their actions.

At length, she climbed from the depths of the bath, quivering bonelessly from the heat of the water. She grabbed one of the fluffy towels and wrapped it around her dripping hair, then picked up another one, carelessly swiping it over her skin, then pulling the nightdress over her head, slipping the dressing gown over her arms, and belting it loosely. She wriggled her feet into the winsome bunny slippers, and rubbed her hair dry. Ginny tossed the wet towels into a basket in the corner and made her way back to her dormitory.

Hermione waited on the foot of her bed. 'Ginny… honestly, nothing ever happened –'

Ginny whipped around, her hair flying around her head. 'Do you really think that's why I'm angry?' she scoffed.

'Well, I…' Hermoine's voice died in the face of Ginny's furious expression. 'Isn't it?' she ventured uncertainly.

Ginny's harsh laugh sounded grating to her own ears. 'No,' she breathed incredulously. 'Bloody hell, Hermione, the three of you don't even see it, do you?'

'See what?'

'And I thought Ron was thick,' Ginny huffed scathingly. 'I don't care that you and Harry were alone together. I really don't. I get what it means to crave just a touch from another person. And like you said nothing happened. And if it had, that would have been something Harry would have _told_ me.' She shook her head in disbelief. 'Did you know people refer to you by one long name? It's HarryRonandHermione,' she sighed, spitting out the string of names as one word. 'Or they call you the Golden Trio… Like you're not individual people.'

'Ginny, we worked as a team…' Hermione said softly.

'That's not the point,' Ginny argued. 'Do you have any idea what Pavarti and Lavender said about the three of you? What they've _been_ saying since your fourth year?'

'Not particularly,' Hermione sniffed.

'That the three of you…' Ginny picked at the knot in the sash of her dressing gown. 'That you share each other,' she coughed.

'Share…?'

'In bed,' Ginny supplied succinctly, cheeks flaming. 'They're not the only ones that talk. Do you remember that Marietta bint? The one that finked out the D.A. to Umbridge? That is _all_ she talked about her last year here. Especially after that disastrous date Harry had with Cho. She said the reason why Harry threw Cho over was because he was involved with you. Most people tend to think they're being ridiculous, of course… But don't you see? The three of you are so… You have such a tight circle that it's impossible for anyone to break into it.' She scrubbed her hands over her face. 'You three do everything _first_ with each other… Every life-altering event, it's the three of you first, then everybody else. Rescuing Buckbeak, and then Sirius… Helping Harry prepare for the Triwizard… Harry visits his parents' graves for the first time with _you_. Sees his parents' house for the first time with _you_ … ' Ginny turned to her bed, and swept the hangings back, then turned back the bedding. 'I don't want to sound like a whinging child or a jealous girlfriend, but…' She lowered her head, gazing at a loose thread on her pillowcase. 'When is it my turn to do something with him before you or Ron?' she asked so softly it was nearly soundless. Ginny climbed into her bed, and pulled the bedding over her shoulders, flicking her wand at the hangings. They firmly closed and she cast an Imperturbable charm at them. _Enough talking…_ she thought. The frankly gobsmacked expression on Hermione's face told Ginny everything she needed to know. _None of them are going to understand_. She sighed and buried her face into the pillow, remarkably dry-eyed. _Not an issue now… But it could be… Later…_

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. 'Do you want to take a break?' Avery asked.

'I'm all right,' Harry said with a self-effacing moue.

'You may not need one, but I do,' Avery declared. He jabbed his wand at the table and a glass fell to the surface with a dull _clunk_. ' _Aguamenti_ ,' he murmured, then picked up the glass when it was full. 'How much did you see?' he asked guardedly.

'Not much,' Harry allowed. 'Enough to know why you haven't been sacked,' he added pointedly. He had to admit Avery was something of a master at manipulating people, able to suss out which buttons to push. He was so skilled at it, most people didn't realize he was doing it to someone else. And he knew who he could antagonize and with whom he had to adopt an angelic mien. What made it all more incredible was that Avery had begun doing this as a small child in primary school. It bordered on brilliant. 'What house were you in at school?'

'Ravenclaw.'

'Really?' Harry tilted the chair back, contemplating the other man. 'Not Slytherin…'

Avery's jaw jumped. 'No,' he said shortly. 'Five generations of my family have been to Hogwarts, and not a single Slytherin in the lot,' he said, letting a hint of pride creep into his voice.

Harry blinked a few times. 'Interesting,' he said neutrally.

Avery frowned, but declined to comment. He sipped his water, staring at Harry. Unable to contain himself, he asked, 'What's it like?'

'What?'

Avery gestured at his temple. 'To see…'

Harry rubbed a spot on his wand handle. 'Intrusive,' he said quietly. 'Nauseating. And as much as people try sometimes, if there are really strong emotional ties to the memory, it's awfully hard for the person to block or suppress it.'

'Can someone block it?'

'Yeah…' A thought began to blossom in Harry's mind. 'You don't know…?'

Avery shook his head. 'No…'

'Occlumency,' Harry supplied. 'Have to empty your mind, create a mental wall, be as impassive as you can… Lots harder than it sounds.'

'Aren't you worried something'll slip while they're making you practice this that could undermine your position?'

'Why are you so worried?' Harry snorted. 'Besides, it's not like I have a position to undermine. I'm barely a step above a trainee. The only difference is I get to go out on field assignments and my badge says, "Auror" and not "Auror Trainee".'

'What if they want to make you Head one day?'

'I'm not going to be Head,' Harry sighed. 'Not sure I'd want it, anyway. And it's not like they'll hand it to me because I'm Harry-Bloody-Potter and sweep anything that might have leaked out in some long-ago practice session with Legilimency under the rug, eh?' He set his chair back on its four legs. 'Come on. Got thirty more minutes of this… Might as well get it over with, yeah?'

'Why don't they teach this to the rest of us?' Avery asked, with a hint of his customary hostility.

Harry carefully considered his reply. Snape had seemed to be able to exploit every horrible childhood memory he ever had, making him seem more vulnerable than usual. 'It's too easy to abuse it,' he said simply. He resolutely raised his wand. ' _Legilimens…_ '

* * *

Harry paced in front of Kingsley's office door, debating with himself. _Go inside, or leave a note?_

Percy emerged, hand at the knot of his tie, loosening it slightly as he ended his day. He watched Harry stalk to and fro, lips moving in a furious, soundless argument, hands gesticulating wildly. 'Harry?'

Harry jumped, his wand at Percy's throat before he could stop himself. 'Don't _do_ that!' he hissed.

Percy's eyes widened behind the lenses of his glasses, and he glanced at the wand, trembling near his jugular vein, the tip glowing with arrested spells. 'Didn't mean to sneak up on you,' he said calmly.

Harry inhaled shakily and forced himself to lower the wand. 'Sorry…' he gulped. 'Still think I have to look over my shoulder all the time sometimes,' he confessed.

'Understandable.' Percy unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, eyeing Harry. 'Could I offer a bit of advice?' he asked. 'Take it or not, your choice… But I offer this standing on the outside of the situation.'

'Situation? I wasn't aware there was one.' Harry crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

'I know the Minister would like you to come to the memorial service next week,' Percy said tonelessly. 'At least make an appearance.'

Harry carefully replaced his wand in the holster under his sleeve. 'Why?' He held up a hand, halting whatever Percy was about to say next. 'And don't tell me it's because everyone expects it. I've done what everybody else wants me to do since I was a baby. I made an appearance at the memorial after the battle last year, because it was _expected_ ,' he said coldly. His eyes closed tiredly and he shook his head. 'Why can't anyone understand I never wanted to be the public face of the war?'

Percy shifted his briefcase to his other hand. 'Have you ever thought if you did do something publicly from time to time, they wouldn't expect it of you all the time?' He pushed the button for the lift. 'Just think about it.'

Harry's lips thinned and he nodded jerkily. 'Is Kingsley still in?'

'In the Atrium overseeing the final touches of the fountain.'

'Thanks…' Harry joined Percy in the lift, keeping his eyes on the toes of his shoes.

'Maturity's overrated at times,' Percy commented idly. 'One must behave as if they do not wish to throw mashed potatoes at people, even when they richly deserve it. And you find yourself doing things you'd rather not do in the first place. You do things because you have to. It's finding when _not_ to do those things that are difficult…' He glanced at Harry. 'You should be grateful you do, at least, have a choice. I'd prefer to go home and spend the day with Mum and Dad, or sit with George, and skip the whole rigmarole.' The doors of the lift parted and Percy strode off without a backward look, acting as if he hadn't uttered a word.

Harry realized his mouth was hanging open, and closed it with an audible _snap_. He trudged to Kingsley, conferring with a serious-looking witch, their wands sketching patterns in the air, leaving glowing lines in their wake that outlined the dimensions of the fountain. He cleared his throat softly to gain their attention. 'Put my name on it,' he said firmly. 'Just make it small and inconspicuous. It shouldn't be the focus of the fountain.' _And I shouldn't be the focus of the dedication_ ,' he added silently.

Kingsley nodded, recognizing how much Harry had conceded in requesting to be the acknowledged donor of the fountain. He gestured with his wand, and a small rectangle unfurled, coming to a rest on the side, near the floor. 'How's that?'

'It's fine.' Harry turned on his heel and darted back into the waiting lift. When he arrived on Level Two, he ran into Peter.

'I was looking for you,' Peter told Harry, holding out a small piece of parchment. 'If you didn't have anywhere else to go, or well…' He coughed uncomfortably. 'My wife and I are having a few friends over for a bit of a private remembrance next Sunday. That's our address.' He pressed the parchment into Harry's damp palm. 'No worries if you don't come or want to be alone. But you shouldn't be alone. I can promise no one will expect you to make a speech in our back garden. You don't even have to speak to anyone if you don't want to.' Peter paused delicately. 'And if you want to drink yourself into oblivion with us, you can sleep it off in our spare bedroom.'

'I…' Harry gazed at the neatly-lettered address in bewilderment. 'Thanks…' He ducked into his cubicle. He set the scrap of parchment in the center of the desk and studied it. It was a gift, freely offered with no demands on him at all. An unconditional momentary respite. Harry started to crumple the small square in his hand, but stopped, and shoved it into his pocket. Sunday was still more than a week away.

* * *

George opened the bureau drawer, fully expecting the see the paper printed with delicate flowers lining the bottom of the drawer. Instead, he saw a stack of his boxers, neatly folded next to rows of socks, rolled into tidy bundles. 'Katie? How long have I been here?'

Katie leaned against the doorframe, her toothbrush poking from the corner of her mouth. 'Almost a month. Why?'

'When did I get two weeks' worth of pants in here?'

'Your mum sent them over the other day.' Katie shrugged and returned to the bathroom.

George scooped a pair of boxers from the top of a stack and followed her. 'Why would she do that?' Katie leaned forward to spit into the sink and gave George a quizzical glance. 'What?'

'If you want to go back to Devon, that's fine,' Katie said, rinsing the toothpaste from the sink. 'But it seemed like you wanted to stay indefinitely.' She shut off the tap. 'I didn't say anything to your mum. She just showed up with the rest of your things…'

'I guess we never talked about it…' George said hesitantly.

'George, would you like to stay here with me?' Katie asked gently. 'We don't have to stay in this flat if it doesn't suit –'

'But I like this flat!' George protested. 'It's cozy and warm, and it's… it's fine for the two of us…'

'We don't have to make any decisions right away,' Katie said quickly. 'Take your time… I want you to stay here because you _want_ to be here. Not because you're using it to stall about dealing with… things,' she added firmly.

George nodded, mouth pressed in a tight line. 'Yeah… Okay…' He stood up and reached for the taps in the bath, stripping off his pajamas.

'I'm not throwing you out,' Katie reminded him. 'If you want to stay… it's your choice. If you want to leave, it's also your choice.' Dizziness washed over her and she sat down abruptly on the floor.

George clambered out of the tub, painfully slamming his knee into the rim. 'Katie! Katie, are you all right?' He crouched in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.

'I'm fine… Just got dizzy…' Katie struggled to her feet, and bent over the sink, splashing cold water over her face.

'I don't think you ought to go to work today,' George stated. 'You still look rather peaky to me.'

'Have to,' Katie said shortly. 'Layout doesn't happen by itself.'

George sighed and sat back on his heels. 'Just… Just don't stay too late, all right?'

'I won't.' She glanced at her watch. 'George… You're going to be late…'

George stood on the bathmat, chewing the inside of his cheek. 'I own the place,' he said dismissively. 'I can be late if I want.'

Katie inhaled deeply. 'George, sweetheart, I love you, but if you don't go to work today – _on time_ – I'm going to hex you,' she told him, smiling with near unbearable sweetness. 'I'm quite all right. I just need to eat something…' She patted him on the cheek and left him to his shower.

Getting George out of the flat proved to be more difficult than Katie imagined. She wasn't the type that enjoyed concerned hovering when she was ill. She despised it and preferred to be left alone. George constantly inquired if she needed anything. The only thing she wanted was for him to leave and give her a few moments of peace and quiet. She felt unsettled and out of sorts, peevish one moment, appallingly tearful the next, then sickeningly cheerful. Starting her day by snapping at co-workers was not high on her list of things to do.

When he finally left, Katie leaned against the door in relief, reveling in the silence that surrounded her. She moved quietly around the flat, putting books and magazines away, flicking her wand idly over surfaces, siphoning away the accumulated dust, while she visualized how her article should look. She stopped occasionally, to twist from side to side, attempting to relieve the dull, persistent ache in her back. _Been in bed too long_ , she mused. A sudden stab of pain made Katie gasp, and her shoulders hunched against the cramp rippling through her. _What the…?_ It was quickly followed by another cramp. _Hospital…_

Katie knew she wasn't able to Apparate or Floo on her own. She stumbled through the door to Mr. Grevas', and with one hand pressed to her stomach, she knocked with her free hand. 'Katie,' he exclaimed with concern.

'I need some help… St. Mungo's,' she wheezed.

'I'll just go and fetch George…'

'No!' Katie shouted, the word rolling down the staircase. Managing to throttle her voice down to something less strident, she gripped Mr. Grevas' sleeve with a rigid hand. 'I just need help getting to St. Mungo's. And I don't want to bother George,' she pleaded.

'All right… shhhhh.' Mr. Grevas patted Katie's shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. He gripped her elbow firmly in one hand, and turned.

* * *

The Healer drew the edge of the hospital's dark green sheet over Katie. 'You didn't know?'

Katie began to laugh, a hysterical tone shredding the edges of it. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' she choked. She covered her face with both hands. 'Did you ever hear about the cobbler's children that go without shoes?' she groaned. 'That's me… All the lectures and information… If I ever tell my mother, she'll go spare…'

The Healer pushed her dark hair over her shoulder. 'What were you using?'

'Muggle pills,' Katie sighed.

'Interesting…' The Healer scribbled something in Katie's chart. 'If I recall what my aunt says, you must take them each day at the same time.'

'I do,' Katie insisted. 'Oh… Oh, no…' She rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'I missed a couple of days about three weeks ago… I got wrapped up in something else, and just… forgot.'

'I am sorry…'

Katie dragged a hand down her face. 'How am I supposed to feel badly about something I didn't know existed?'

'I don't know.' The Healer pulled a chair next to the narrow bed. 'Are you still involved with the, erm… gentleman?'

'Yeah…'

'You should tell him. Whether you feel any sort of grief or not, that's not for me to say.' She looked down at Katie's chart. 'You can go home, if you want, or stay overnight here.'

'I want to go home,' Katie said softly.

'Very well. I want you to come back in a few days just to check things. But if you feel feverish, I want you back here straightaway. The bleeding will stop in a couple of days, but if it's heavier, you have to come back. And your cycle will go back to normal in six weeks or so.' The Healer signed the bottom of Katie's chart. 'Do you want us to call someone for you?'

Katie shook her head. 'No. Thank you.'

'Do you need assistance getting dressed?'

'I can manage.' Katie twisted her fingers in the nubby blanket.

The Healer slid off the stool. 'If you do find you need help, just press your fingers to the plate in the bedside table. Someone will come.'

'Thank you,' Katie said dully. She slowly pulled her clothes on, noting absently they'd been cleaned during her examination, the dragged herself to the waiting area. Mr. Grevas stood, tossing the elderly copy of _Witch Weekly_ aside. 'I don't want to talk about it,' she told him.

He laid his hand lightly against her cheek. 'That's fine, then…' He then twined her arm through his, then turned deliberately, Apparating before Katie could start to cry.

After tucking Katie on the sofa, with a tray of tea and toast on the coffee table, Mr. Grevas dragged one of the chairs from the table next to the sofa. 'Now then,' he began, picking up the gently steaming teapot. 'Are you going to tell me why you didn't want George involved?'

'No.'

'Katie, far be it from me to pry in your personal business, but don't you think he has a right to know what's happened?' He handed Katie a cup of tea.

Katie hunched her shoulders and gave the tea a look of disgust. 'I do,' she replied levelly. 'Just not now.' _I'm not piling one more thing on him… He's bound to crack under the pressure…_

'But you will?' Mr. Grevas persisted.

'Yes.' Katie sipped the tea, feeling some of the coiled tension in her shoulders lessen as its palliative warmth slid down her throat, taking comfort in the ritual of watching someone prepare something as mundane as a cup of tea. _Eventually_.

The door opened and George bounded into the room. 'You stayed home.'

Katie nodded, burying her nose into her cup. 'Yeah…'

George crossed the room and bent over Katie, smoothing the hair from her face. 'You still look peaky,' he stated, lightly kissing her forehead.

Katie captured his hand, clutching it for a moment. 'I'll be all right.'

The Potions classroom was open after dinner for N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. students who wanted some extra practice before exams. Ginny opened her battered textbook and began to gather the ingredients for an Elixir to Induce Euphoria. She set up her cauldron at a table in the back corner of the room, and squinted at the instructions. _Add a sprig of peppermint_ was scrawled in Harry's handwriting at the bottom of the ingredient list. She frowned so intently at the page, that she didn't hear Hermione set her cauldron up next to hers. 'Ginny,' she said hesitantly. 'It's not that we – or Harry in particular – don't want to tell you things… They're really difficult to speak of to anybody, not just you.'

'I get that,' Ginny replied, keeping her eyes on her knife, as it carefully shredded the peppermint. 'You think I don't have things I've not talked about?' she snorted.

'Of course not,' Hermione said briskly.

'I'm sorry I lost my temper,' Ginny said, still not looking at Hermione. 'I know the three of you have lived in each other's back pockets for years. Habit, I suppose. I don't begrudge you that or anything you've done together. And it's not that there are things you lot haven't told me. It's that I had to find out about it from Rita Skeeter of all people,' she said wearily. She finally met Hermione's guileless gaze. 'I just wonder when he's going to feel safe confiding in me, like he does with you two.' She shrugged and returned to her potion, methodically shredding stinging nettle leaves. 'I know it's not a contest about to see who Harry loves best.'

Hermione openly stared at Ginny. 'You don't see it, either, do you?' she said with a sympathetic smile.

'See what?'

Hermione began to chuckle softly. It grew to outright guffaws that she made no attempt to stifle. 'You're the one he took furniture shopping. If you didn't like the color of the sofa, or chairs with the kitchen table, he'd have chucked it immediately. He put things where you suggested. He set that flat up with you in mind.' Hermione wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. 'Ron and I will always be Harry's friends, but _you're_ the one with whom he wants to build a life.' She turned Ginny's textbook toward her and flicked her wand several times, Summoning the ingredients for the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. 'We're okay…?'

Ginny slowly exhaled and leaned against Hermione. 'Yeah…'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Victorian times, there were specific rituals one was required to do when mourning a loved one. Women usually wore black for a full year, and couldn't leave their homes without wearing a heavy, black veil. After a year, they could lift the veil. And since it's been a year in the timeline of the story... Time to set the veil aside...


	55. Lighting a Single Candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if in a trance, Harry set his lemonade down on the closest table. There were still several unlit candles. He touched the wick of one with the tip of his wand. 'James Potter.' The flame of the candle emitted a steady glow under the strings of fairy lights. 'Lily Potter. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin.' He smiled a little, remembering how much Tonks hated her given name. 'Nymphadora Lupin.' Each candle pushed the night back a little bit more. 'Ted Tonks. Dobby. Fred Weasley. Colin Creevey. Alastor Moody. Albus Dumbledore. Cedric Diggory. Kreacher.' A pause. 'Severus Snape…'
> 
> Harry stowed his wand into his pocket and stepped back, looking up, as Kingsley had done, into the star-spangled night. Rest in peace…
> 
> He turned around, turning his back firmly to the past and facing the life he never dared to dream he could have. It wasn't the end of a journey, but the beginning of the next one in his life.

Ginny studied the notice board. It had been cleared of all the pleas for help locating lost books and mittens, the Gryffindor team practice schedules, and various other school announcements. Only one piece of parchment was pinned to the exact center of the board. _All school activities are cancelled beginning at the end of classes on April thirtieth. Classes to resume on May fourth. There will be a school-wide memorial service at two o'clock in the afternoon on May second. Signed, Professor M. McGonagall, Headmistress_

She picked at the corner of the parchment. Ginny didn't want to go to some public memorial, even though it would be mostly other students and Hogwarts staff. Nor did she desire to go home. It didn't seem as if it had been a full year since they'd lost Fred. But the date printed neatly in the top left corner of the notice read _29 April 1999_. Irrefutable proof of the passage of time.

'Doesn't seem like a year, does it?' echoed a voice at her shoulder. Ginny turned to see Dennis Creevey standing slightly behind her. He'd undergone quite a few changes that year, including a rapid growth spurt that had added several inches to his frame, but made him look somewhat starved, even though he ate alarming amounts of food at meals. The merry light in his eyes was slowly returning, albeit somewhat subdued. 'I wish Colin…' He cleared his throat. 'I wish he were here. I would give up all my magic, just to have him back…' He shrugged, shifted the strap of his school bag higher on his shoulder and climbed out of the portrait hole.

'Are you going to go?' another voice rumbled on Ginny's other side. Dean slung a brotherly arm around her shoulders.

'I don't know,' Ginny admitted. 'Some part of me thinks I ought to go. But most of me is screaming to avoid it.'

'Why?' Dean asked.

'I don't really feel up to hearing someone spout a load of platitudes about how we suffered such terrible losses but the forces of goodness and light survived to carry on,' Ginny scoffed. 'I just remember feeling numb, you know? Once it was all over, and Voldemort was gone, and when I closed my eyes, I could see Fred lying on the floor. And he was so still. Fred was never that still when he was alive. Not even when he slept,' she added ruefully. 'That's how I knew he was gone,' Ginny said softly. 'And the others… Remus, Tonks… Colin. I'd just rather not be around people on Sunday…'

Dean nodded. 'Yeah. I don't think there's going to be a great many of us there. Not unless McGonagall makes us go.'

Ginny turned from the notice board, recalling McGonagall's anguished cries as Voldemort pronounced Harry to be dead. She fancied McGonagall would have wanted to be alone Sunday, had circumstances permitted. For Ginny felt the Headmistress' emotions ran deep, skillfully hidden under a brusque exterior and her concern for students ran far beyond seeing to their basic necessities or seeing the Quidditch Cup in Gryffindor's possession. 'I don't think she will.'

'Good,' Dean sighed with relief. 'I don't think I can handle public grief again…' He gave Ginny a bit of a hug, and went to the portrait hole. 'Going down for breakfast?'

'Yeah…' Ginny swung her bag to her shoulder and gave the notice board a last, thoughtful glance. Life continued, even in the face of death, destruction, and mayhem. It was just the natural way of things.

* * *

Molly awoke at her usual time, gazing sleepily at Arthur's side of the bed. He could normally be found sprawled over his half of the mattress, mouth slightly open, while one arm draped possessively over her waist. But only the impression of his head in the pillow belied his presence in their bed. 'Arthur?' Molly called, as she slid from the bed, and pulled her dressing gown over her arms. 'Arthur?' Her voice rose in a slight panic. Molly pattered down the stairs, gripping the banister tightly. When she rounded the landing on the second floor, light spilling from Fred and George's old room arrested her flight. She stepped to the open door, and stifled a sigh at the sight that greeted her. Arthur perched on Fred's bed, a box of photographs next to him. 'What are you doing?' Molly asked quietly.

Arthur held out a faded photograph. Molly took it from him, and held it up to the light. Percy had his arms wrapped around one of her knees, and a slight bulge was visible under her robes. The miniaturized version of herself kept gesturing for the photographer to put the camera away before she finally acquiesced and pressed the voluminous fabric closer to her body, revealing a much larger bulge than the initial image indicated. Molly smiled fondly. 'I don't think I slept for more than a few hours at a time for three months…' she murmured. 'If one wasn't moving, the other one was.' She moved to join Arthur on the bed, and her hand dipped into the waiting box. 'You were always so excited to become a father again, even when it strained our finances to the breaking point,' she told him. Her fingers unerringly found the photograph she sought, and offered it to Arthur.

Arthur chuckled softly. He held a twin in each arm, beaming with a mixture of joy, pride, and elation. _They'd just been born_ , he thought. Their tiny faces were scrunched in identical expressions of dismay at being separated for the first time, as they wailed in unison. 'They didn't like being apart, did they?'

'No.' Molly's head rested against Arthur's bony shoulder, nestled in the hollow where her head just fit for the last thirty years. 'I was completely surprised we even had Ron and Ginny after we barely survived the first year with Fred and George,' she said lightly.

'We hadn't exactly planned on Ron or Ginny,' Arthur retorted, pulling out a photograph of all the children, taken just before Bill had gone to Hogwarts for the first time.

'We didn't plan on any of them,' Molly snorted. 'But I wouldn't have traded our life for all the gold in Gringotts. 'Not the years of nappies, the crying, the handed-down clothing, second-hand books and robes… Not even the smells that used to come from this room.' Her voice hitched slightly. 'I can still see the smiles on their faces when they each got their Hogwarts letter. I can still see Percy trying on his robes every day for a week before he went to school for his first year. Fred promised me he was going to use his magic to make more money than the Malfoys.' Molly's voice cracked, and she looked around the tiny room, with barely enough room for a bureau between the narrow beds and a wardrobe in the corner. Shelves hung on the walls, crammed with books about magic and potion ingredients, and Muggle magic tricks. 'And Ron… Ron was terrified he'd be the first Weasley to not be in Gryffindor. I thought Ginny was going to hyperventilate when she realized she was going to be on the same train as Harry,' she laughed. 'George was trying so hard to be brave, like Fred, but he came downstairs before the others when it was the twins' turn to go, and wrapped his arms around me and told me he would miss being at home…' She drew a deep, shuddering breath. 'Bill was just so thrilled to get out of the house,' she said, laughing shakily. 'I think it was far more peaceful in the common room than it was here. And Charlie…' Molly felt a pang for the child Charlie had been. So quiet and kept to himself, and self-sufficient to such a degree that by the age of thirteen he sorted, laundered, and mended his school uniforms, and had his trunk packed the night before the train left. 'Charlie just watched everything going on around him.'

'Bill's married,' Arthur mused. 'George seems rather taken with his young lady.'

'Katie,' Molly supplied automatically.

'Katie,' Arthur murmured. 'Percy's doing well for himself. Charlie's thriving with his dragons. Ron's probably not going to be here much longer. Nor Ginny, I imagine.' He tilted up Molly's face with a finger and gently kissed her. 'We've done very well by our brood,' he said, resting his forehead against Molly's.

Molly blinked slowly and two fat tears escaped from her eyes, and slid down her round cheeks. 'It still feels empty,' she choked. 'Not this big, old, creaky, _empty_ house.' She pressed Arthur's hand to her chest. 'Here… When I think of how much our children have accomplished for themselves, it's not quite right because Fred's not here.' More tears followed, one behind the other, reflecting the light of the flickering lamp overhead. 'We're not supposed to outlive our children… We're supposed to go before them… It's not… It's not…' Molly dissolved into sobs.

Arthur didn't know what to say. Molly was usually so strong and held herself together, even in the most distressing circumstances. Her tears unnerved him, and always had. He pulled her closer and tucked her head under his chin, his arms around her waist. It was all he knew to do.

* * *

Bill yawned and stretched, listening to the pound of the surf against the cliffs. It was one of the reasons why he'd chosen Shell Cottage. Most days, the sound of sea didn't make him feel maudlin, but today it was making him keenly feel his own mortality. The rising and falling roar of the water mimicked the sound of a heartbeat. Tantalizing aromas drifted up from the kitchen, coaxing Bill from the warm bed. He followed the scent of roasting chicken down the stairs, through the sitting room, and into the kitchen.

The table groaned under the weight of enough food to feed the entire family. For a week. 'Fleur, _chérie_ , what are you doing?'

'I zought your muzzer might want some 'elp wiz ze meals for today.'

'That's going to last them for some time,' Bill told her.

'I zhust wanted to do zomezing nice…' Fleur wiped a shaking hand over her face. After nearly two years of marriage to Bill, she still felt somewhat like an outsider with the Weasleys. Not that they hadn't welcomed her into the family, but Fleur had come to realize she hadn't made the best impression she could have when she and Bill first announced their engagement. Since the wedding, she was determined to prove to Molly she wasn't just a pretty face. In fact, the kind of life Molly had was exactly the life Fleur wanted, in spite of all of Fleur's comments to the contrary. If Fleur had any faults – and she _did_ have them – she tended to make cutting remarks when she was nervous, while projecting an air of confidence that came off as cool hauteur. It was a horrid combination when one was attempting to forge a relationship with the people that would become one's family. Most men didn't notice the flaws under the glare of Veela charms, and Fleur admittedly never had gotten along with other women and girls very well. Her relationship with Molly had markedly improved, but Fleur could still see the aura of uncertainty in Molly regarding her. 'I zought if I took food, zen Molly would not 'ave to worry about doing any of ze cooking today.'

'I don't think anybody's going to show up for lunch today,' Bill said softly.

Fleur's face crumpled. She didn't know many of the people that had died last year very well, save for Fred. But even then, she hadn't known Fred as well as she could have. She hadn't deigned to set foot in the shop, deeming it as beneath her. Yet another regret. 'We could take zome of eet to George? And to 'Arry?' she asked anxiously.

'Percy, too,' Bill added, thumbing an errant tear from Fleur's face.

'And Percy, _aussi_.'

Bill managed to find the bowl of apples that sat in the center of the table, surrounded by roasted potatoes and creamed parsnips. He plucked one from it and briefly polished it on the sleeve of his t-shirt, then took a bite as he sat down in a chair, drawing Fleur closer with his other hand. 'Why is it so important to you to do this?'

Fleur shrugged eloquently with one shoulder. 'I do not want zem to zink I do not care,' she admitted reluctantly.

'Nobody thinks that,' Bill objected.

'I have not treated your family very well in ze past,' Fleur said. 'I want to try and make zings better wiz zem.'

'I guess this is as good a time as any to try and start over,' Bill mused. 'It's like a new year, no?'

* * *

Charlie carried a large, steaming mug of tea to the steps leading up to the small verandah of his cabin. He was bundled in an old Christmas jumper that bore several small holes from his work in the hatchery. It was a bright, sunny morning, not unlike the morning after the battle a year ago. He didn't know why he was up so early. Daffyd had removed him from the duty roster for that day. He could go home, but the idea of seeing Molly valiantly attempting to hide the grief that would surely well up anew made him slightly ill. He considered and rejected going to Andromeda's. For some reason, it made him inexplicably angry to think about Tonks' son, left orphaned by the war. 'Stubborn woman,' he muttered. Tonks, he understood, could have stayed home – no, _should_ have stayed home, but she rushed to Hogwarts, leaving her newborn child behind. She died instead, killed by her mother's sister. What galled Charlie was that Tonks didn't _need_ to be at the battle, but she couldn't stay away from the action. 'Bloody Aurors,' Charlie grunted, burying his nose in his tea. In Charlie's opinion, Aurors were more than a bit mad, always running toward danger instead of away from it, like sane people. Tonks was no exception, even after she'd had a child.

'You're up early,' a feminine voice commented. Charlie glanced toward the sound of the voice. 'I thought you'd have a bit of a lie-in, since you're not on duty today,' Bronwyn continued.

'Can't sleep,' Charlie told her, their voices carrying across the misty valley, even though they barely spoke above a murmur.

'You were there, weren't you? At Hogwarts.' Bronwyn's tone was less of a question and more of a statement.

'Yeah.'

Bronwyn frowned, trying to recall the list of casualties from the newspaper article that had been in the _Prophet_ several days afterward. 'Fred Weasley…' she said uncertainly.

'One of my younger brothers.' Charlie wiggled his toes inside his thick socks. 'The most ambitious and the most outrageous of us all.' He set the mug on the step next to his feet, the tea no longer appealing. 'Even more ambitious than my brother Percy, who has designs on the Minister's position. I'm told Fred died laughing. Fitting.'

'Are you going home for the day?'

'Was thinking about it. Not sure I will.'

'There are a couple of public memorials scheduled for today,' Bronwyn ventured. 'One in Diagon Alley tonight at sundown…'

Charlie shook his head. 'Too many people…'

'Your friend died too,' Bronwyn observed. 'That girl in Hufflepuff who could change her appearance.'

Charlie exhaled with barely concealed impatience. 'Yeah.'

Bronwyn tucked a curl behind her ear. 'It's not my place to say,' she began.

'But you're going to anyway,' Charlie huffed.

'My mother died when I was young,' she continued, as if Charlie hadn't spoken. 'Right before I started Hogwarts. At Christmas. So for most of the time I was in school, I stayed there for the holiday. I didn't want to be at home, because she wasn't going to be there making toffee with me before she went to sing in the plygain service…' Bronwyn took a deep breath. 'My last year, I finally came home. Dad and I stayed up, making toffee, just like Mam used to do. Then we staggered to the plygain. Done it ever since. Ended up being the best way to remember my mother.'

'And your point?' Charlie asked with forced composure.

'Go home,' Bronwyn said bluntly. 'Just for a bit. Or do something your brother would have done.'

Charlie rubbed his hands over his face. 'I don't play pranks on people.'

Bronwyn sighed. 'I give up,' she muttered. 'My professional opinion,' she intoned, 'is that you need to _do_ something to remember your brother and your friend today. Don't stay cooped up in that cabin of yours all day.' She turned on her heel and strode off. Charlie slumped with a sigh. He hated to admit she was right.

* * *

Percy stood in front of the mirror, carefully dressing for the day. Crisply pressed white shirt, black tie, severe black robes. His hair had been brushed into neat halo of tamed curls. He slipped his feet into the waiting black loafers and started for the door. The Ministry ceremony would start in an hour. As he opened the door, Penny's startled face came into view with one hand raised, poised to knock against the door. She, too, wore unremitting black, her hair twisted into a simple knot low on the back of her head. 'I thought I'd come with you…'

'Thank you,' Percy breathed fervently. 'I was going to go see my parents afterward,' he told her, closing the door behind them.

'I can go with you,' Penny said.

'I'll have to track George down first,' Percy replied. 'I'm not sure if he's going to be at the Burrow, Katie's flat, or the cemetery.'

'What if he doesn't want to go anywhere?' Penny inquired.

'I don't know.' Percy began to make his way down the narrow, twisting stairs. 'I'll figure that out when we get there.' He blinked in the bright sunshine that greeted them when they emerged from his building. He tilted his head back for a moment, looking into the clear, blue sky. It was a lovely day, perfect for things like weddings or parties, not memorials.

They walked into the Atrium, hand-in-hand, joining the throng of people already there. Percy had to admit the fountain was perfect. A small rivulet of water seemed to flow directly from the wall, with no visible opening. Names were carved into the polished black marble that wound around the Atrium on either side of the stream that led to a large pool of water in the center. Still more names were carved around the pool, on the bottom, and the inside walls. The water itself glowed softly as it flowed from the wall, fading as it traveled to the pool. There was little noise, save for the quiet burble of the stream. It was all very peaceful, and very austere. A glint of gold caught Percy's eye, and he stepped to the pool, studying a small bronze plaque set into the marble. _Donated by H.J. Potter_. It was nearly unnoticeable amid the other, more prominent names of the dead and missing.

'It turned out well, didn't it?' Penny murmured.

'It did.' Percy glanced around the Atrium, but didn't see Harry anywhere. He didn't blame Harry for not being here. He had a feeling Harry would be mobbed. He wondered if Harry would make an appearance closer to the start of the dedication, then slip out before it ended. Just to be here long enough for people to see him.

Kingsley stood in front of the fountain, and waved his wand in a wide arc. The Atrium filled with chairs draped in black, and his sonorous voice filled the hushed room. 'If you could please be seated…' He waited while the rustling sounds faded as the numerous witches and wizards found a chair and settled in for what they expected to be long speeches. When silence rose once more, Kingsley took a deep breath. 'A year ago, we defeated the greatest threat to our world. It had naught to do with Dark magic and everything to do with fear. Fear of a person, fear of a name, fear in the way we lived our lives. The end of the war did not end our struggle to replace fear with acceptance, or darkness with light. For as long as there are those who believe certain of our kind are superior to others, that fear will exist.

'For several hours, we set aside our differences, united in a common cause, and it is my hope that we stay united in that conviction that all of us – regardless of where we were before the war – will continue to make peace amongst all magical beings a reality, and not just a dream.

'It is the best way to honor those whose names are listed here. Thank you.' Kingsley stepped down from the small dais and began to pace the perimeter of the fountain, his dark robes swinging behind him. He stopped at each name of a known Order of the Phoenix member and lightly touched it with his wand. A tiny blazing phoenix appeared under the name, flaring for a moment, then settled into a warm, steady glow, flickering as if tiny flames danced inside the outline of the phoenix.

Percy stared at a spot across the Atrium, at a figure dressed in dark clothes. Or at least he thought there was someone there. For he blinked they disappeared without a sound. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. 'Are you all right?' Penny asked pressing a clean handkerchief into his hand.

Percy used the handkerchief to polish the lenses of his glasses. 'Just seeing things,' he murmured.

* * *

Katie's fingers tapped an idle tattoo on the small table. George gazed down into his bowl of cereal, moving the flakes around more than he ate any of them, shoulders inching up the longer Katie beat the irregular rhythm next to her bowl. 'Are you all right?' he asked gruffly.

'Hmmm?' Katie blinked several times. 'Did you say something?'

'Are you all right?' George repeated.

'Yeah, just thinking…' Katie replied absently.

George pushed his cereal away. 'Katie, are you mad at me or something?'

'What? No… Why?'

'You've just been really quiet the past few days…'

'I'm fine,' Katie told him. She sipped her cooling tea and examined George over the rim of the cup. 'There's a memorial in Diagon Alley tonight at sundown,' she ventured.

George shook his head. 'No.'

'The write-up about it in the magazine sounded really nice,' Katie wheedled. 'Quiet, no speeches or anything…'

George reached across the table and laid a hand over Katie's. 'I can't… No people…'

Katie nodded in understanding. 'Do you…' She took a deep breath. 'Would you mind if I went for Fred?' _The baby, as well_ , she thought. _No one will think anything if I'm crying…_

'You'd do that?' George asked hesitantly.

'Of course I would,' Katie responded gently. 'I think Alicia and Oliver might be coming, too.'

George developed a sudden interest in the patterned tablecloth, tracing the print with his finger. 'That's kind of them,' he said thickly.

'Gryffindors aren't merely students in the same house,' Katie said loftily. 'We're practically family…' She picked up both hers and George's half-eaten cereal and carried the bowls to the sink. 'Are you going home today?'

'Yeah.' George's voice sounded like it came from deep inside a cave. 'Want to come?'

Katie concentrated on washing the bowls. 'Not today,' she murmured.

George stood behind Katie and rested his hands on her shoulders. He stepped forward, so his chest was against her back, and she felt some of the tension leave them both. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. Words seemed to stick in his throat, so he contented himself with sliding one arm around her waist, while they rocked gently for several minutes.

* * *

Andromeda peeked into Teddy's room. He was already awake and babbling softly to his stuffed wolf. She stayed there, on the threshold to the nursery his mother had so lovingly put together. Andromeda closed her eyes sending up a brief word of thanks that she did have Teddy over the past year. When Dora had admitted she was, in fact, carrying Remus' child, Andromeda had been more than a bit taken aback, the shocked sensation quickly replaced by trepidation. None of them knew what would happen with the pregnancy, and it was a relief to her when it progressed normally and they found Teddy was not a werewolf after all.

And after… After the battle, after the war, being forced to get up every morning and look after Teddy, kept Andromeda from wallowing in the grief of losing not only her husband, but her only child, as well. She was comforted by the traces of Dora she could see in Teddy's face. And more importantly, Teddy was a tangible reminder of the passage of time. In just a year's time he had gone from being a helpless newborn to a toddler, just learning how to wobble from one end of the sofa to the other, chubby fingers clutching tightly to the edge of the cushions. Where Teddy used to have a wide, gummy, toothless smile, he now had several small teeth that brightened his frequent smiles and laughs. The tuft of hair on top of his head was now a mass of wispy turquoise strands.

Teddy had also brought her a family, via Harry and the rest of the Weasleys. Molly's repeated insistence that Andromeda join them for dinner when she came to pick up Teddy on the Saturdays he was with Harry, or for lunch on Sunday if Harry had him overnight kept her from isolating herself. She still missed Ted and Dora a great deal, but Teddy's presence in her life lessened the loss somewhat.

Andromeda opened the door, and walked into the nursery. Teddy looked up at the intrusion and beamed at her, holding up his arms. Andromeda swept the baby from the cot and cuddled him, brushing her lips over his tousled hair. 'How would you like to go see Mummy and Daddy today?' she crooned. 'I'll bet they'd love to see you…'

In the bustle of feeding Teddy and dressing them both for the day, it was quite late in the morning before Andromeda managed to get them both to the cemetery. The day was warm and sunny, with puffy white clouds dotting the clear sky. It was rather like the day of Dora and Remus' funeral. With a sigh, Andromeda dropped the changing bag near her feet and flicked her wand at it. An old quilt flew out, unfurling as it settled over the grass. She swung Teddy to the quilt and sank next to him. Andromeda said nothing, as she gazed at the headstones gleaming in the sunshine. Half her attention remained focused on Teddy. For several weeks, he had hauled himself to his feet, swaying precariously, while he clung to the edge of the sofa cushions with his pudgy fingers and edged from one end to the other. Teddy pushed himself to his feet and rocked a little until he found his balance. He stood uncertainly on the edge of the quilt, then took one step. Then another. And another before he suddenly plopped to his padded bottom, his eyes wide in surprise. 'You walked!' Andromeda exclaimed. 'Mummy and Daddy would be most pleased,' she added, wiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes.

'That was brilliant,' a voice said earnestly from the gate.

Andromeda's head whipped around while Teddy held his arms up screeching, 'Da!'

* * *

Ginny blinked at the red velvet curtains around her, confused by the way the light streamed through the space between them. She sat up, pushing the loose plait over her shoulder, reaching for the alarm clock, ticking gently on the bedside table. It was almost noon. 'We tried to wake you for breakfast,' she heard Hermione's amused voice say from the other side of the curtains. 'You told us to sod off and put your head under the pillow.'

'Guess I needed the sleep,' Ginny yawned, pulling the curtains back, flooding her bed with light. 'Are you going to the… thing… later?'

Hermione perched on the edge of Ginny's bed. 'I don't think so,' she said finally, twirling a lock of hair around a finger.

Ginny sat up, working the elastic from the end of the plait and shook out her hair. 'I'm sort of hoping I can slip out of the castle for the day…'

'You and half the other students,' Hermione said in a tone that made Ginny look up at her.

'You think it's a bad idea, too, hmmm?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Not really. I mean, it's a lovely idea…' She trailed off, looking chagrined. 'I don't know how I'm to behave.' She pushed herself further into the recesses of Ginny's bed, and toyed with the edge of a curtain. 'I did give my parents some sort of explanation about why I sent them to Australia and modified their memories, but…' She exhaled slowly. 'I tried to put it all out of my mind afterward. And yes, I did lose people close to me, but it's nothing compared to you or Harry,' she said quietly. 'It's not that I don't feel anything. Showing emotions like that, in front of people…'

Ginny wrapped her arms around her knees. She could recall the occasions she'd seen Hermione dart into the girls' toilets, her lower lip between her teeth and slip into a stall before the sniffling sounds could start. Hermione wasn't one to wear her heart on her sleeve, unless she was with people she trusted. Hermione hadn't publicly shed a tear during either Fred's or Remus and Tonks' funerals, but Ginny remembered Hermione tossing and turning in the camp bed, before finally giving up and going upstairs to sleep with Ron. Ginny had often wondered if finding solace in Ron's arms gave Hermione the freedom to grieve. She liked to think so.

'Before Cedric died,' Hermione continued, still fiddling with the curtain, 'the only time I'd ever been around someone who died was my mum's mother. And I was only seven when that happened, and my parents didn't take me to the funeral…' She let her head fall back against the bedpost. 'I've found I'm not very fond of funerals,' she added with a slight shudder.

Ginny nodded. She knew exactly what Hermione meant. 'Makes you feel like you're on display.'

'Yeah…' Hermione pleated the hem of her jeans between her fingers. 'I noticed it during Dumbledore's funeral. Almost like people were watching Harry to see how they were supposed to react. And during the memorial last year, I could _see_ people's eyes flicking back to where we sat. If we'd been prostrate with grief, I imagine everyone else would have been…'

Ginny snorted with arrested laughter. 'I just don't want to go and hear someone tell me all those deaths weren't in vain.' Her palms tingled with the memory of holding that Ravenclaw girl's hand while she died. _What was her name?_ Ginny could still clearly see the girl as she lay in the dew-wet grass, pale brown hair streaked with blood, the pulse under her fingers growing more and more erratic as it faded into nothingness. _Elizabeth. Elizabeth Willingham. Seventh year._ Elizabeth was almost so colorless as to fade into the background when in the presence of other students, however, she'd fought bravely until one of Greyback's followers attacked her. Ginny hadn't wanted to look at the wounds, but she had glanced down, barely able to refrain from gagging. From then on, she resolutely kept her eyes on Elizabeth's face. 'I know it was necessary to defeat Voldemort, but all those people – they died before they got to live. That's what I think about,' Ginny said into the pool of silence that enveloped her bed. 'And I'd rather think about things that don't revolve around death and destruction.' She slid out of the bed and gathered her things preparatory to dressing for the day.

* * *

Ron blew his hair from his eyes and continued to beat the batter in his mother's old yellow mixing bowl. A drop of sweat inched its way from his hairline down his face, catching in the red stubble glittering along his jawline in the morning sunshine. He could have mixed the gingerbread with magic, but there was something soothing about the monotony of the wooden spoon thumping rhythmically against the side of the crockery, and Ron still appreciated the tactile sensation of mixing things himself. He dipped a finger into the spicy batter, and licked off the treacly mixture, nodding in satisfaction. It wasn't quite the time of year to make gingerbread, but it was something easy he could make without concentrating very hard. And George liked gingerbread. And the longer he baked, the less he had time to think about what the day potentially held for them.

Ron set the bowl down and flicked his wand at the waiting baking pan. It flew through the air and settled on the table in front of him. He poured the batter into the pan, using the spoon to scrape the sides of the bowl, then used his wand to open the door of the oven and send the pan to the shelf inside, and close the door. He stared at the cupboard wondering if there was clotted cream. Shrugging, he cleared the table and Summoned the butter from the cupboard, testing its temperature with a cautious forefinger. He cast a Cooling charm on the crock, and began to dump flour into yet another bowl, adding sugar, baking powder, and salt. He dropped the cold butter into the flour and began to rub it into the flour, until the butter was distributed through the flour. Unconsciously, he sifted currants into the mixture, not realizing he was making them the way Fred liked his scones until he rolled out the dough. Nobody else in the family liked currants in their scones. Except Fred.

Ron stood motionless over the table, a biscuit cutter suspended in one flour-dusted hand, while his wand hovered over the dough. 'I ought to just Vanish it…' he muttered.

The door swung open, and Molly surveyed the wreckage of her kitchen. Batter encrusted mixing bowls were stacked on the drain board, piles of biscuits cooled on the counters, and baking spices hung heavily in the stifling kitchen. Ron gazed at her, flour liberally daubing his nose and cheeks. 'Mum…' he said weakly.

Molly stepped toward the table and gently pried the biscuit cutter from Ron's limp hand. 'How long have you been awake?'

'What time is it?'

'After eight.'

'Four… no, five hours…'

'I see.' Molly looked at the waiting scone dough and blinked. 'Currants…'

'Yeah…' Ron squirmed, picking at flour caked in his nails. 'Didn't realize…'

Molly didn't say anything, nor did her face betray any sort of censure. Her hand pressed the biscuit cutter through the dough.

'Mum?'

'Hmmm?' Molly hummed softly as she continued to expertly cut out scones.

'Nobody will eat those…'

'I know.' She lined the scones neatly on a baking tray and nodded toward the oven. 'How much longer does that gingerbread have?' The aroma of baking gingerbread was unmistakable. She'd often baked it for George for his birthday as a special treat.

'Ten minutes.'

Molly set the baking tray aside and gestured toward the laden counters. 'There are enough sweets here to last for weeks…'

Ron turned on the water and spent an inordinate amount of time scrubbing his hands clean. 'Couldn't sleep,' he mumbled, grabbing a dishrag and attacked the pile of utensils he'd left in the sink. He examined a spoon caked with biscuit dough and scraped at a petrified blob with a thumbnail. In actuality, he hadn't slept well for a few days. George had all but parked himself in the back room, mumbling excuses about needing to lay in more stock before the summer holiday began. Ron knew George was trying – trying not wallow, trying not to remember building the shop with Fred, trying to keep his end of the bargain he made with Ron in February, trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and above all, trying to live. Satisfied he no longer had globs of dough stuck to his hands, Ron shut off the tap, and took the dry tea towel Molly offered. 'I'll take the biscuits into the shop,' he told her. 'Leave them on the counter or something.'

Molly took a cup from the cabinet and glanced at Ron. 'Cuppa?'

'Yeah, that'd be nice, Mum. Thanks.' Ron pulled out a chair and ran a hand over the surface of the scrubbed wooden table, inwardly marveling at Molly's ability to scour things by magic. It was as if he hadn't spent half the night stolidly baking his way through one of her books on the shelf. The soft _click_ of the china saucer and cup landing in front of him made him shake his reverie. He blinked, clearing the fog from his eyes.

'Are you happy, Ron?' Molly asked.

Ron gaped at her, the cup halfway to his open mouth. 'What?' he spluttered.

'Are you happy doing what you're doing…?'

Ron sipped his tea, more to cover his own bewilderment by his mother's unexpected line of questioning than any real thirst. 'I guess…'

Molly persisted. 'If Fred hadn't died,' she began, 'would you have worked in the shop or gone into the Aurors with Harry? I thought that's what you wanted, dear.'

Ron shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. 'I did. I _used_ to want to be an Auror.'

Molly casually flicked her wand at the oven and removed the gingerbread, adjusted the temperature and closed the door with an ease Ron envied. 'And now?'

'I don't know,' Ron confessed, so quietly, as if the mere fact of admission would bring the house tumbling down around his ears. 'I'm not quite sure I'm suited for the Aurors, anyway… Even if it was something I wanted to do.'

'I think you're selling yourself rather short, if you don't mind me saying so,' Molly snorted.

Ron looked at her sharply. 'I don't mean I couldn't do the work.' He transferred his gaze to the window on the other side of the kitchen. If being an Auror was anything like those long weeks and months tracking down Horcruxes, Ron knew without a doubt it was something he did not want. He didn't suffer things like privation and discomfort with any sort of equanimity. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on it. And while Ron knew his instincts were good, and according to Harry, better than some of the blokes in the Aurors, his emotional equilibrium couldn't handle it. And unlike Harry, he wasn't able to channel his emotions into something constructive. And like everyone else, he wanted nothing more than to leave that part of his life behind. 'I've learned a lot about myself, and yeah, being an Auror sounded like something, well, _cool_ , I suppose. But it's not like the stories, eh?' He nodded toward a small battered bookcase crammed with dog-eared novels featuring a crack Auror who solved the seemingly unsolvable with a flair and panache real wizards couldn't match. 'I'm fine working with George, Mum,' Ron assured her. 'I even have a bit of a knack for it. Not like the two of them working together, but George and I aren't total rubbish together.' He slid his wand from the pocket of his pajama bottoms and sent the scones into the oven, then leaned over and kissed Molly on the cheek.

Molly cupped Ron's face between her slightly work-roughened hands, searching for the little boy that used to lurk behind his bright blue eyes. 'I just wanted to make sure you went into the shop with George for the right reasons, and not just because Fred's gone… And that you didn't not go into the Aurors because of that year…'

Ron looked into his tea, hitching one shoulder uncomfortably. 'Initially,' he admitted. 'But after seeing what Harry has to deal with every day, I think I'm much happier where I am.' He draped an arm around Molly's shoulders. 'Don't worry, Mum.' He returned to his perusal of his tea, turning the thought over in his head. He did eventually want to marry Hermione, but he didn't want to marry her, unless he could fully provide for the both of them. He realized how ridiculous it all was, considering Hermione was more than capable of taking care of herself, but some stubborn place inside insisted he had to be able to stand on his own two feet, before he offered her more than the idea of something more permanent. And furthermore, would being a mere shop proprietor be good enough for someone of Hermione's intelligence?

It was something he thought about more and more as the days drew closer to Hermione leaving school.

* * *

Harry blinked blearily at the ceiling. He turned his head to peer at the alarm clock. The small square of parchment Peter pressed into his hand caught his eye, and Harry picked it up, squinting at the address. Peter's wife, Marianne, had stopped by his cubicle the other day. Harry didn't know her very well. She coordinated the Aurors working in Muggle professions, so he had little interaction with her. _I imagine it will last well into the evening_ , she'd told him. _Just stop by any time. Things like this… it's sometimes easier when you're with others who know exactly how you feel…_

The problem was, in Harry's opinion, none of them really knew exactly how he felt.

He flung the bedding away and heaved himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom, the polished wooden floor warm under his bare feet, turning cool as it changed to tile in the bathroom. Harry washed and shaved quickly, then found himself standing in front of the open wardrobe, swathed in a damp towel, shivering slightly, as he stared at its contents. Unthinkingly, he reached for the dark suit he'd bought for himself, and draped it over the foot of his unmade bed. A pale grey button-down shirt joined the suit, along with a tie of swirled muted navy blue and forest green. Before he could give himself time to ponder his choice of attire, Harry donned the suit and struggled to neatly knot the tie, before slipping on a pair of black Oxford shoes, then sliding his wand into the pocket of the trousers.

Prayer wasn't something Harry resorted to very often. He couldn't even rate it as a nodding acquaintance, but before he opened the door of his flat, he offered a hasty, wordless prayer that he'd manage to make it back home at the end of the day, without his presence attracting too much fanfare. He was determined _not_ to be the focus of the day.

Harry made his way into the Atrium, well after Kingsley began speaking. He was mercifully brief in his remarks, and it seemed nobody else was scheduled to speak. Harry peered around a pillar and watched as Kingsley stopped briefly at the name of each member of the Order. He let his gaze roam over the assembled crowd, ducking behind the pillar when he saw too many people were looking at him, rather than the names engraved along the walls. He didn't see Percy slip through the throng and join him behind the pillar. 'Harry?'

Harry spun around. 'Oh… Hi.' He glanced over his shoulder at the Atrium. 'I thought I'd come for a bit…' he explained lamely.

'I'll speak to the reporter and photographer,' Percy offered. 'So they'll leave you be…'

Harry opened his mouth to say "yes", but said, 'No, it's fine…' He rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'Can't hide forever…' He took a deep breath and stepped from behind the pillar.

Contrary to what he'd believed, the assembled witches and wizards didn't rush to gather around him. Several nodded in acknowledgement of his presence and more than a few murmured a greeting. A couple solemnly shook his hand. But most were gathered around the names of family and friends. Just as it ought to have been.

Harry slid his hands into his pockets and paced around the atrium, fingers brushing over his own names. James Potter, Lily Potter, Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Ted Tonks, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Lupin. He returned to his parents' names. Only two out of what seemed to be hundreds carved into the black marble, and yet they stood out to Harry, as if they were many times larger than the surrounding names. And he was conscious of how alone he was just then. He didn't begrudge the other people their friends and family members that were with them. He knew where he needed to go.

Unhurriedly, Harry made his way out of the Atrium to an Apparition point. He pulled out his wand, picturing a small house, surrounded with pansies and hydrangeas. Before he could blink, he was standing outside Andromeda's home. Harry knocked on the door, but Andromeda didn't answer. He pointed his wand at the door, whispering, ' _Hominum revelio_.' The door remained the same. He looked around, trying to gain his bearings. Harry hadn't been to Remus' grave since the funeral last year, and he didn't remember much about that particular morning, either. It was north of the house – that much he remembered. Holding his wand flat on the palm of his hand, Harry murmured, 'Point me…' The wand spun to his left, and Harry began walking up the slight hill. He saw Teddy's bright turquoise hair glinting in the sunlight and began to walk a little faster. He arrived at the cemetery gate just in time to see Teddy take a few uncertain, wobbling steps, then plop unceremoniously onto his bottom. 'That was brilliant,' he said enthusiastically.

Andromeda's head turned in his direction, and Teddy's face split into a wide grin, thrusting his arms into the air. 'Da!' he screeched gleefully.

Andromeda watched the stricken expression that came over Harry and quickly told him, 'He says that to everybody. Arthur, the milkman, the butcher. Even the greengrocer's boy, and he can't be more than twelve.'

Harry swallowed. 'Oh… Well…' He opened the gate and joined Andromeda on the quilt, loosening his tie. He gestured toward the gate. 'Staying home today?'

'Yes.'

Harry studied the pattern of the quilt. 'Molly's having everyone over for lunch today…'

'I don't think –'

Harry interrupted her. 'Andromeda, you shouldn't be alone today.'

'Harry, I assure you –'

'Do you think Ted would have wanted you to shut yourself away?' Harry asked pointedly. 'Or Tonks?'

'I've imposed my company far too often on Molly and Arthur Weasley the past year,' Andromeda said stiffly.

'It's not an imposition,' Harry countered.

'And I'm not hiding,' Andromeda murmured.

Harry snorted. 'Tell me another. If anyone knows what it's like to hide, I do.'

Andromeda brushed non-existent grass off the quilt. She desperately didn't want to be alone in the house Ted had found for them just after their marriage. It held too many memories that she didn't want to think about. The first time Nymphadora spoke a word that resembled English and not Gobbledegook. The first time she'd seen the shadow leave Remus' face as he held Teddy just after his birth, counting the baby's fingers and toes, fingers brushing over the downy widow's peak that dipped into Teddy's forehead. The last night with Ted, before he left, in a last effort to protect her. And Molly had lost a child as well. Molly would understand. 'Very well,' she acquiesced. 'Just let me change Teddy…'

'I'll do it,' Harry volunteered.

'That's very kind of you.' Haltingly, Andromeda reached over and brushed the hair from Harry's eyes. 'So much responsibility at such a young age,' she said quietly. The wariness still skulked in his eyes, but much of the hostility and anger had faded. 'Go corral Teddy, hmm? And we'll go to Molly and Arthur's.'

* * *

George sat cross-legged in front of Fred's headstone, leaning back on his hands. 'So I've moved in with Katie. Sort of just happened without me realizing it. I went to stay with her for a few days, and the next thing I knew, all my things were at her flat. Mum's doing. Seems she's not quite as prim as we thought. I'm not telling Ron, though. It's sort of a laugh to see him twist himself into knots trying to explain where he was with Hermione until the wee hours and not let on they've been shagging like crazed bunnies.

'I think Katie might want to get married. Not that she's said anything, and she won't, but it's not quite fair to her. I don't think I'm cut out for marriage. Katie wants things like babies, and considering how much she's had to take care of me, it wouldn't do, would it? It scares me how much I – I dunno if love is the right word, but it's the best I've got – how much I love her. She's one of the few things keeping me sane. And if something were to happen to her… I've barely survived losing you. I can't lose her.'

'I thought you'd be here.'

George twisted around. Percy stood behind him. 'Nice togs.'

'Thanks.' Percy reflexively straightened his tie.

'Mum send you to track me down?' George asked.

'No. Came on my own. Wanted to see if you were going to go to the Burrow.'

George ran a hand through his hair, revealing the ugly scar just behind his jaw. 'Perce…'

The corner of Percy's mouth turned up. 'I seem to remember you and Fred frog-marching me to the common room of Gryffindor, declaring I wasn't to spend Christmas Day with the other prefects. It was a time for family. Well, this is a time for family, and you're not to spend it by yourself. If you're going to wallow, you're going to do it with the rest of us.' Percy gripped George's arm and hauled him to his feet. 'Come on.'

'You've gotten even bossier,' George observed.

'Doubtful,' Percy muttered. 'You're just now paying attention to me.'

'Where'd you go so dressed up?'

'Ministry do.'

'Merlin's pants, I'm glad I don't have to do all that.'

Percy chuckled lightly. 'I find it fascinating.'

'You would.' George flung an arm around Percy's shoulders, a somewhat difficult task, given that Percy was several inches taller than he. 'I've never thanked you,' he said, not looking at his older brother.

'For what?'

'For reminding me to breathe,' George said softly.

* * *

Ron turned at the sound of the back door opening. Bill shouldered his way through carrying two large wicker baskets. 'What is all that?'

Bill eyed the table in the scullery where Molly folded the laundry. It was covered with the results of Ron's baking efforts. 'I could ask you the same thing. Mum's work, I presume?'

'Mine,' Ron said shortly.

Bill shook his head. 'Both you and Fleur…'

Bemused, Ron watched Bill set the baskets on the table in the kitchen, and proceeded to unpack their contents. 'I shall do it,' Fleur said, gliding into the kitchen. She slapped Bill's hands away and shooed him into the sitting room. 'Zat is your handiwork?' she inquired of Ron, indicating the piles of biscuits, scones, and pies.

'Yeah.' Ron turned back to the pile of peas he had been shelling. 'Couldn't sleep.'

Fleur set a cassoulet on the table. ' _Et moi aussi._ Me as well.'

'Kept my mind off things,' Ron said with a dismissive shrug.

' _Oui._ ' Fleur unearthed a roast chicken, then a large tureen of soup, several onion tarts, _coq au vin_ , and ratatouille. 'I zought I would help your _maman_.'

Ron's thumb split the peapod. He wasn't certain Molly would appreciate the help, but he looked up at Fleur, her face slightly anxious. 'It's brilliant.' A breathtaking smile lit Fleur's face and Ron grinned back. He wondered why he no longer went tongue-tied and awkward in her presence any longer. Perhaps he was merely used to her, or she didn't turn the charm on full blast like she used to. Ron liked to think it was because he was devoted to Hermione, and could now see Fleur for what she was without the blinding Veela aura. 'I don't think Mum's had much French food. And it's a nice treat for her not to have to do the cooking.'

The door swung open to admit Harry, carrying Teddy, who squirmed restlessly to get down, and at a slower pace, Andromeda. 'There's enough food in here to feed a Quidditch team,' Harry breathed, setting Teddy down. Teddy crawled through the kitchen and headed straight for the sitting room.

'I shall zend zome of eet home wiz you,' Fleur promised.

'Brilliant. I won't have to cook for a few days,' Harry said. He noticed Ron's amused glance at his clothing. 'Ministry do.' Harry doffed the coat and tie, hanging them on a hook in the scullery. 'Who's trying to buy my love with treacle tart?'

'I thought I'd tempt you with my baking,' Ron said with a perfectly straight face. 'We could throw over Hermione and Ginny and run off to… Oh, I don't know… Brazil…'

Harry unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, pretending to consider Ron's offer. 'You're not my type. Sorry, mate. Too high-strung.'

Ron laughed. 'Just as well. Hermione could take you in a duel.' He examined Harry, noting the shadows under Harry's eyes. 'You all right?'

Harry blinked. 'Yeah,' he said, surprising himself. 'I am.' He joined Ron at the table and grabbed a handful of peapods, and began shelling them. 'It's been like waking up from a bad dream…'

* * *

Charlie gave his clothing a quick once-over, checking to make sure they weren't pockmarked with scorch marks or burn holes. He opened the door of his cabin and Disapparated, exchanging the view of the craggy valleys of Wales for the rolling hills of Devon. He walked through paddock, making sure the small lump in his pocket was still there. He was sure Molly would hex him thoroughly for what he was going to do, but he was just as certain Fred would approve, although he felt a twinge of pity for Percy.

The kitchen was crowded with people: Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, Percy, Penelope, George, Ron, Harry, Andromeda, and Teddy. 'You're just in time,' Molly told him, patting his cheek, as she passed, levitating a stack of plates to the table. 'Sit yourself down, then. Next to Percy.' Charlie had to bite back a grin. This was too easy. He took the empty seat next to Percy, and pulled the serviette off his plate. Pretending to drop it, Charlie dropped a Mr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start No-Heat Firework under Percy's chair.

George helped himself to a large portion of the _coq au vin_ and suddenly began to snicker. His fork hovered over his plate, as his laughs grew louder, and he gasped for air. 'Do you remember the first time Fred and I made something explode?'

Molly's hand clapped over her mouth, lest she spew water everywhere. 'I thought I'd never get the stench out of your clothes!'

Bill's face grew redder and redder until he could no longer hold back the guffaws. 'Remember when Gin was born and we took that photograph with Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian?'

Percy's lips twitched. 'I've tried to forget it.'

'What happened?' Fleur asked curiously.

Charlie smiled. 'Fred and George tossed a Wet-Start No-Heat Firework under the chair Percy was sitting on, then Fred… Well, he…'

'Took a piss on it,' Bill said bluntly.

'Percy must have jumped a foot off his chair,' Arthur told Fleur.

'We weren't even four,' George said proudly.

'A rather auspicious beginning for the two of you,' Percy said loftily, as Charlie stealthily aimed his wand at the firework. The second the cold water hit it, it burst into a shower of multi-hued sparks, surrounding Percy, who ignored the accompanying deafening _bang_. 'A nice effort,' he said when the clamor died down. 'But entirely too predictable.'

* * *

Ron joined Harry under the apple tree, each of them cradling a plate of treacle tart. 'How hard would it be to go up to Hogwarts today do you reckon?' he asked, folding himself to the grass.

Harry shrugged, his mouth full. Swallowing he replied, 'Dunno.' He watched Molly and Andromeda set off down the lane, their arms linked companionably, heads titled toward one another. They made a rather incongruous picture, but like most people that passed through the Weasleys' lives, she'd been absorbed into the family with no questions or comments. Harry imagined they were talking about Fred and Tonks.

Ron idly traced a line through the filling of his slice of treacle tart with his fork. 'I was thinking about going up…'

'So was I.'

Ron carefully sliced through the sweet. 'Do you think McGonagall would let us?'

Harry set his plate down on his knees and looked at Ron. A sly look crept onto his face. 'I'm Harry Potter, damn it,' he said seriously. 'If there's any time in my life where I'd want to play that card, today will be it.'

Ron began coughing, spraying them both with bits of pastry. ''Ave oo los' ur min?' he wheezed.

Harry shook his head carefully. 'No, I don't believe so. Seems to still be there.'

Ron wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. 'So you just intend to walk through the gates?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah. We wouldn't be the first to go up for a visit.'

Ron blinked and crammed the rest of his treacle tart into his mouth. ''ess oooh.' He jumped to his feet.

'What now?'

'Yeah, now.' Ron checked his watch. 'It's just after two. Lunch is over, and we can leave before dinner starts.'

Harry hurriedly ate the rest of his pudding and Banished both his plate and Ron's back into the open kitchen window. 'Knight Bus or Apparition?'

'Neither,' Ron grumbled, disliking both modes of transportation. 'Apparition,' he sighed. It was the lesser of two evils. He pulled his wand out. 'On three?'

'One…'

'Two…'

Harry's wand lowered. 'Wait, are we going _on_ three or right after three?'

'Never thought about it…' Ron frowned. 'Right after three?'

'Then that would be four,' Harry argued.

'Now you're just being a git,' Ron said mildly. 'Right after three, then. One, two…'

'Three!' Harry shouted, and the both turned.

Ron's eyes were tightly closed. He'd never tried to Apparate so far before. 'Harry?' he whispered.

'Yeah.'

'Did we make it?'

'Yeah…'

Ron inhaled deeply, the peaty tang of Scotland tickling the back of his throat. 'Oh, thank Merlin,' he breathed, slowly opening his eyes to see the gates of Hogwarts towering above them.

* * *

'What time is it?' Ginny asked, as she and Hermione walked down the stairs.

'Ten minutes until two.'

'So, we can sort of mingle with the others and slip out…'

'That could work.'

'A- _hem_.'

Ginny and Hermione froze, then looked over their shoulders. Professor Trentham stood behind them. 'Professor…' Hermione said with what felt like a sickly smile.

'Do I need to remind the two of you that you're not permitted to leave the grounds today?'

'No, miss,' Ginny muttered.

'We didn't want to go to the memorial,' Hermione said. 'We thought we'd go outside the castle for a bit…'

'Did I ask?' Trentham asked archly. 'I merely meant to emphasize that while today is something of a holiday, normal rules and expectations of behavior do still apply.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Ginny murmured. She and Hermione nearly ran down the stairs and burst through the heavy door, exhaling with relief. 'Interfering, meddling old bat,' she grumbled.

'She's just doing her job,' Hermione reminded her.

'Normal rules and behavior do still apply,' Ginny mimicked.

'You are frightfully good at imitating people,' Hermione said, shading her eyes and looking over the Black Lake.

'Used to do Mum all the time. Fred and George used to shove whatever they were creating in their jeans or jumpers. Sometimes they'd sit on it…' Ginny grinned slyly. 'Worth it after they made me lick a sock when I was four.' She glanced at Hermione, studying something on the far side of the lake. 'What are you looking at?'

'Does that look like…?' Hermione mused. 'No… it can't be…'

Harry stopped on the shore of the Black Lake. The castle loomed in front of them. It still gave him a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach to see Dumbledore's stark white tomb on the other side of the shore. The castle was mostly repaired, save for a few greenhouses that were still in disrepair, but not a priority, and some of the outlying walls, and parts of the architectural details of the bridge that were seen as unessential and would be done last. 'I think I'm going to walk for a bit…' he said tightly. 'I'll see you inside.' He struck off toward the Forbidden Forest.

Ron watched him trudge on the edge of the lake, then continued to the broad stone steps of the castle.

'Ron!' Hermione breathed. She hurtled down the steps and flung herself into his arms. 'You have no idea how glad I am to see you,' she said softly in his ear.

Ron looked over the top of Hermione's head. Ginny hung back, toying with the ends of her hair. 'Harry went that way,' he told her, gesturing with his head toward the Forbidden Forest.

Ginny mouthed, 'Thank you.' She slipped down the steps and scanned the crags surrounding her on the edge of the ancient forest. She saw a lone figure stop on one of them, where the castle was more-or-less hidden by a copse of trees, and sit, looking out over the valley. She looked back over her shoulder at Hermione, who was gently, but emphatically steering Ron in the other direction. Ginny felt inexplicably as if something had suddenly shifted, and a twinge of sadness arose. Pushing it aside, she began to make her way to Harry.

Ron reached into the pocket of his jacket and handed Hermione a small box. 'Brought this for you.'

Cautiously, Hermione lifted the lid of the box, revealing several handfuls of assorted biscuits. 'Did you rob a bakery?'

'Couldn't sleep,' Ron sighed, tired of explaining why he felt the need to bake his way through several pages of Molly's cookbooks.

'Ah.' Hermione nibbled the edge of a ginger biscuit, humming in appreciation.

'Hermione?' Ron slipped his hands into his pockets. 'You're all right with me staying with George?'

'Why does it matter what I think?' Hermione snorted.

'It just does…'

'No… why…?'

'It's not prestigious or anything,' Ron explained. 'And I want to wait to… Well… I want to… Well, it doesn't matter what I want to do, but I want to be in a position where I can do more than just get by.'

Hermione's nose crinkled. 'I'm afraid I don't follow…'

'I like working with George,' Ron said in a low voice. 'It's something I like doing, and I don't even have to compare myself to Fred. But if you think it would be best for, well, _us_ , if I did something else… Something with more importance, I'd send word to Kingsley I've changed my mind…'

Hermione tugged on Ron's arm, to make him slow his gait. He'd subconsciously lengthened his stride as he spoke. 'Let me make sure I understand you properly,' she said evenly. 'If I think it would be best for our relationship for you to do something where you will potentially be unhappy, you'll do it?' she asked incredulously.

Ron sighed heavily and slid to the ground at the base of a large tree. He waited until Hermione joined him, then pried the box from her hand, and thumbed the lid open. He took several biscuits and picked at the edge of one. 'Do you know what I've been thinking about today? While everyone else was thinking about the past, I was thinking about what I wanted in the future. I don't want to think about the last seven or eight years anymore. I want to get on with life. And hopefully, one day that will include you…'

'I want you to do what you like…' Hermione paused, then shyly said, 'You think about, well… later?'

'Yeah.' Ron looked so serious, Hermione nearly laughed, but he was so earnest she couldn't help but kiss his cheek. Her head rested against his shoulder, and she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle the sudden rush of giggles. Ron gave her a quizzical glance down his long nose. 'What's so bleeding funny?' he asked indignantly.

'I was just thinking about the day I met you,' she spluttered. 'I don't think even Professor Trelawney could have predicted this.'

* * *

Harry sat back against a moss-dappled boulder, his eyes closed, face tilted up to the sunlight. With the castle partially hidden behind the trees, he could imagine he was on a Sunday afternoon outing, and not on some sort of private mission he couldn't quite identify. If someone had bothered to ask Harry why he felt the need to come to Hogwarts today, he wouldn't have been able to give a reply. At least not one filled with all sorts of awkward silences. The ceremony at the Ministry that morning had been… nice. But the Ministry didn't represent the magical world to him. It was just a place where laws were made that affected people, often without much thought about the people they would affect. It was the place where he worked, where paperwork often threatened to drown not only him, but the other Aurors, ensuring everything was above board and above suspicion. No, the real magical world to Harry was Hogwarts – home to floating candles, talking paintings, moving staircases, centaurs and unicorns in the Forbidden Forest, a riot of magical herbs growing in the greenhouses, delicious meals that appeared out of thin air. Certainly, the Ministry had its share of magic, but Harry could recognize that after his dreary childhood, Hogwarts held the promise of an escape. It was – and would always be – his first real home.

He heard the sound of shoes scraping against loose pebbles on the trail that wound to the copse of trees and his eyes popped open. He didn't change his relaxed pose, but like a sleeping cat, there was a sense of hyper awareness about him. A scent of mingled lavender, sage, and chamomile wafted toward him; borne on the soft breeze that seemed to accompany the clear sunshine at Hogwarts, enhancing the halcyon aura he gave the school in his mind. The scent carried memories of apple trees and fairy lights, snowy nights gazing at the stars, and sun-warmed river currents. His lips curved in a slight smile, while his mouth formed the soundless shape of a name.

Less than three feet behind the boulder, Ginny stilled. She'd seen the slight tension in his outstretched feet and legs that told her he knew she was there, and wondered if there would ever be a day where Harry could totally relax and release the vigilance he'd lived with nearly half his life. She softly cleared her throat, and waited for Harry's head to turn. 'Hi,' she said, as she closed the last few inches between them.

'Hiya.' He smiled, then, with a blazing sweetness she now realized he reserved strictly for her.

Ginny lowered herself to the space he made for her and leaned into him, surprised by how much the stiffness that had taken up residence in her shoulders seemed to dissipate at the simple act of Harry's arm winding around her shoulders. The fingers of his other hand, gently traced the lines of her face before his mouth lowered to hers. 'What brings you here?' Ginny asked.

Harry gestured vaguely behind them. 'I had to see it,' he explained awkwardly.

'The repairs are almost done,' Ginny told him.

'Yeah…'

'There's a ceremony inside…'

Harry shuddered delicately. 'No, thank you.' He eyed Ginny. 'Unless you want to…?'

Ginny's head shook, the dark auburn waves shimmering in the sun. 'No.' She studied Harry. 'So, why did you need to come and see the school?'

Harry fiddled with a button on his shirt. 'This sounds a bit… Well, it's more than a bit twee…'

'Try me.'

Harry leaned a little closer to Ginny, where he could rest his cheek against the top of her head. 'This is where it all started. All those years ago when Riddle decided he was going to be immortal. And this is where it finished. Appropriately enough.

'When we were gone, I never worried about the Ministry, because it wasn't the center of my magical world. It was here… I just needed to see for myself, from the outside, just how far we've come since then…' He exhaled slowly, rearranging himself so Ginny sat between his thighs, her back against his chest. 'I don't think I'm ever going to be able to let go of the guilt, though. Not completely.'

'But it wasn't –'

'I know, it wasn't my fault,' Harry said over Ginny's mild protest. 'None of it was. But that doesn't erase the fact that far too many people died. For. Me. And I do know some of them had no choice, like Cedric, and the ones that did, it wasn't a real choice, like Mum or Dad. And then, there are the ones who did have a legitimate choice, like Remus, Tonks, or Fred. But then again, it wasn't a real choice, either. Do you stay home, or fight against the darkness that threatens to take away the very essence of your life?' Harry wound a lock of Ginny's hair around his finger. 'That being said, I don't want to spend the rest of my days in the past.'

'I don't either.' Ginny twisted to look back at Harry. 'That's why I'm not inside with the others.'

'My supervisor invited me to his house today,' Harry admitted.

'Are you going?'

Harry snorted. 'A load of older Aurors, getting blind drunk, reminiscing about their dead mates?' he scoffed. 'Not bloody likely.' He shook his head. 'It's not the same…'

'It is,' Ginny insisted quietly. 'And you never know… it might be just the thing for you.'

'Getting blind drunk?' Harry's mouth crimped at the memory of the last time he overindulged in drink, and his stomach cramped. 'No…'

Ginny urged Harry to lower his head, and she brushed a light kiss over his mouth. 'Go,' she said. 'All this time, you've been one of them, if not in fact, then in deed… And now you are actually one of them. Whatever it is they do, I'm sure it helps them live with what guilt they carry.' She ran her fingers through Harry's hair. 'Might help at work,' she added delicately. 'For you to sort of mingle a bit…'

'To be seen outside the usual environment, hmm?'

'Exactly.'

Harry stared at the trees in front of them, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the last place he'd seen his parents. 'Right…' he sighed. 'Right.'

* * *

Katie walked slowly down Diagon Alley. The cobblestones had been replaced with a carpet of soft, green grass that undulated with the gentle rise and fall of a heartbeat. At one end, by the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, stood a small platform. Scattered down the grass, were what looked like small, brown, paper bags. Each one bore the name of a person who died in the Battle at Hogwarts. She continued slowly until she found the luminary with Fred's name. It was directly in front of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Katie smiled at that. She settled to one side of the luminary, and tucked the afghan around her knees against the encroaching chill of the evening. Out of the purple dusk, figures surrounded her, dropping to the grass next to her. Oliver Wood. Alicia Spinnet. Kenneth Towler. Lee Jordan. They said nothing, but grouped around her. 'That can't be…' Alicia murmured. Katie's head snapped up, and she squinted at the figure making her way toward them.

'Angelina,' she breathed. Then louder, 'Angelina!' Katie stood, and pelted toward the other girl, throwing her arms around Angelina's spare body. 'Ang, you're here…'

'Couldn't stay away…' Angelina took a step back and closely examined Katie's face. 'How are you? It's been an age since I've gotten a letter,' she said, without censure, but noting the dark circles under her friend's eyes.

'Just been busy,' Katie said evasively, as she led Angelina to the small knot of Gryffindors.

Oliver laughed. 'It's the team. Well, most of it. Just need Harry and George…'

'Best team ever,' Alicia chimed in.

An old, wizened witch climbed the few steps to the platform, and pointed her wand at her throat. Her surprisingly rich voice rolled down Diagon Alley, reading the first name on a list that floated in front of her. As she said the name, the first luminary began to glow. As she read each name, the next luminary added its light to the darkness.

George stood in the window of the flat, holding aside the curtain. He could hear every word the witch said. His grip tightened as the words, 'Frederick Weasley,' reached his ears. He slowly released the curtain, and let it fall, obscuring the image of the tiny glowing flights dotting Diagon Alley.

* * *

Angelina and Katie remained huddled on the grass, watching the flicker of the magical candles inside the paper bags in companionable silence. 'What's really going on with you, Katie?'

'I got pregnant,' Katie said tightly.

'Oh?'

'Yeah…' An expression of wonder spread over her face. 'I've thought maybe that bloody necklace did more damage than we thought. But it didn't…'

Angelina's smile was visible by the light of the luminary. 'That's wonderful! Does George know you're going to have a baby?'

Katie bit her lip. 'No.'

Angelina gaped at her. 'Why the hell not?'

Katie swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. 'Because I didn't know I was pregnant when I miscarried,' she said. Her face crumpled briefly, and she blinked rapidly, but the tears still managed to escape. 'I didn't know I was pregnant. And it just happened. We weren't even trying or thinking about it. And before I could think anything about it, it was just gone…' She shook herself, trying to throw off the sudden melancholy mood.

'Are you ever going to tell him?'

'Someday. Just not now. I haven't even had a chance to come to grips with it myself…' Katie felt Angelina's arms encircle her shoulders. 'I will. I will…'

* * *

Harry hovered uncertainly on the pavement outside a tidy house, with a bright blue door. _Ravenclaw blue_ , he thought wryly to himself. Peter and Marianne had both been in Ravenclaw, and the idea of them having any other shade of paint for their front door was unthinkable. He started for the door, then turned and began to walk a few steps away, only to turn back to the door. 'Are you going to Peter's?' rumbled Kingsley.

'I thought I might,' Harry said nervously. 'You're going?' he blurted.

'Just because I'm the Minister, it doesn't mean I've quite stopped being an Auror, lad,' Kingsley replied. He put a hand between Harry's shoulder blades, and gently propelled him forward, to the side of the house with the bright blue door, and through a garden gate.

Several Aurors were already sprawled in chairs or day loungers, drinks in hand. They greeted Kingsley and Harry volubly, some of them raising their glasses in greeting. Marianne approached Harry, a warm welcoming smile on her face. 'I'm so pleased you came,' she said to Harry, pressing a glass into Harry's unresisting hand. 'It's just lemonade. If you prefer something stronger, just help yourself,' she told him, waving a hand at a table laden with several bottles, sandwiches, pasties, cakes, and biscuits.

Harry nodded dumbly, gazing around the garden. It had the air of a garden party, gone slightly to seed. Kingsley, he noticed, went straight to a bank of candles. He touched a few with his wand, murmuring a name each time, as the candle sprang to life. Kingsley's bald head tilted backward, gazing up at the starry sky for a long moment, then bowed briefly. Only then did he accept the bottle of ale from Peter.

As if in a trance, Harry set his lemonade down on the closest table. There were still several unlit candles. He touched the wick of one with the tip of his wand. 'James Potter.' The flame of the candle emitted a steady glow under the strings of fairy lights. 'Lily Potter. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin.' He smiled a little, remembering how much Tonks hated her given name. 'Nymphadora Lupin.' Each candle pushed the night back a little bit more. 'Ted Tonks. Dobby. Fred Weasley. Colin Creevey. Alastor Moody. Albus Dumbledore. Cedric Diggory. Kreacher.' A pause. 'Severus Snape…'

Harry stowed his wand into his pocket and stepped back, looking up, as Kingsley had done, into the star-spangled night. _Rest in peace…_

He turned around, turning his back firmly to the past and facing the life he never dared to dream he could have. It wasn't the end of a journey, but the beginning of the next one in his life.

_The end…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plygain is a Welsh Christmas Eve service that involves singing. Lots of singing.
> 
> This was my very first longfic piece. I started writing it in July 2008 and finished it in August 2010. It didn't seem like it had taken me two years to write it. 
> 
> When I started writing fic, I never intended to share it. It was for fun, I suppose. But I eventually did start posting it on FictionAlley and FF.net. I can honestly say that the comments and reviews helped encourage me to keep writing, probably more than most anybody will know. 
> 
> I owe a lot to the world of fic. I met my best friends through fic. I met my husband. 
> 
> A heartfelt thank you to everyone that's read it, on FictionAlley or FF.net or here on AO3. 
> 
> Sincerely,  
> little0bird
> 
> I've spent a bit more than two years writing this, and it doesn't seem like it's been two years… It seems like yesterday. So I finish this story with the words I give to Harry. It's not just the end of this journey, but the beginning of a new one.  
> I can't thank those of you who took the time to read this enough. It encouraged me to write in more ways than you'll know.


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